


There Falls No Shadow

by Sheila_Snow



Series: Loss and Possession [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Protectiveness, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheila_Snow/pseuds/Sheila_Snow
Summary: For some unknown reason, 'happily ever after' rarely applies to spies, retired or otherwise.  It must be something in the job description.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, finally. The sequel to "Obsession and Other Forms of Primal Therapy". This fic won't make any sense at all without reading that one first (yes, all 132,000 words of it!), so reader beware. Herein lies copious amounts of angst, but then if you've already read the first one, why would you even be surprised? Warning for underaged (not quite) sex. It's mentioned only and not at all explicit, but if that's a significant trigger, you'd best give this fic a miss.

Loss and possession, Death and life are one.  
There falls no shadow where there shines no sun.  
-Hilaire Belloc

> _Silva,_
> 
> _You have something that belongs to me._
> 
> _Be a good boy and give him back please?_
> 
> _ESB_

__  


Q heard the door to his suite open. Since absolutely no effort was made at stealth, yet Q’s alarm system hadn't activated, it could only be _one_ person.

"Do come in, 007. I'd hate to be considered an ill-mannered host, even if my 'guest' insists on barging in unannounced."

Bond stuck his head around the door to his computer room and smiled. "If you didn't want someone 'barging in,' you might try locking your door. Or is that too high tech for you?"

Q didn't even bother to look up from the program he was debugging. "And locking my door would stop you for -- how long exactly? Five minutes, perhaps?"

"Really, Q," Bond said indignantly. "Two minutes, tops, and then only if it's an electronic lock. I may have gotten rusty, but I'm not _that_ damn rusty." 

"I'm not a field agent, Bond. How would I know the minimum length of time required to break into a _private_ abode?" He looked at Bond askance. "You _did_ close the door after you, didn't you? I don't want the cats loose in the compound again -- it was a bloody circus getting them rounded up the last time."

Bond merely gave him an incredulous look. "I doubt the lazy buggers even knew I was there. They're both sound asleep and didn't even twitch when I walked by them."

"Yes, well, appearances can be deceiving. As you should well know." When Bond didn't reply, he looked up again from his monitor. "Is there a reason for this visit, 007, or were you simply bored and thought you'd disturb someone who actually worked for a living?"

Bond snorted, but then sat down heavily in the chair across from Q's desk, crossing one leg over the other and gripping his ankle. "Both. Neither."

"Very informative, that." He stopped typing and looked Bond directly in the eyes. "Actually, I'm rather surprised you've managed to slip your leash for this long."

Bond's eyes narrowed. "And which leash is that?"

Q said nothing, merely inclining his head at Bond's ankle, where the agent had been stroking, apparently obliviously, the shining black band that wasn't _quite_ hidden under the cuff of his trousers.

Bond removed his hand as if stung and then placed both feet firmly on the floor. He glared at Q. "It's not what you think."

"Hmm. Since you and Rodriguez don't lock your bedroom door either, or even _close_ it half the bloody time, it should be fairly obvious what I think."

"Right, then. So it's not _only_ what you think."

Q let out a long-suffering sigh. "Bond. These last few weeks I've rarely seen you two when you _weren't_ joined at the hip. In fact, if we didn't live in an underground compound with depressingly few windows, I'd think Rodriguez was walking around with a particularly unshakable shadow."

Bond froze at that, his face going slack and his gaze oddly distant, and Q was surprised at how exceedingly young it made the agent appear. Regardless, this sudden stillness unnerved Q. Bond wasn't a garrulous man by any means, but he usually didn't require mere words to fill a room with his distinctive presence either. 

Yet now Bond seemed countless miles -- or perhaps it was years? -- away.

"Bond," Q said again sharply in an effort to snap the man out of his seeming reverie. When the agent finally looked at him again, Q relaxed his tense shoulders and continued, "I thought you _wanted_ to be with Rodriguez. You must admit, you were more than a tad distraught after you thought he'd died."

"I _do_ want to be with him. Nothing has changed," Bond said in an uncharacteristic rush, the words seeming to fall out of his mouth. "At least not for me. I know he can be a bit possessive at times . . ."

Q didn't bother to suppress a derisive snort.

"But lately, he's been almost . . . stifling."

"I guess that's one way of putting it."

Bond glared at him again. "Are you going to help or not?"

Q felt his eyes widen. "Help? Help with what? Rodriguez didn't hire me for my aptitude in clinical psychology. If you're having relationship issues, talk to Dr. Almeida. At least he's earned some sort of medical degree."

Bond gave him a disgruntled look. "Even if I _were_ looking for a physician's pep talk, Dr. Almeida is in Lima, with Michelle."

"Ah, I see."

Bond leaned forward in his chair. "Look, Q. Tiago keeps telling me nothing is wrong, but he's acting especially paranoid, even for him. He must have given you access to the outside world in order to do your job. Has M, or perhaps another intelligence agency, initiated some kind of covert action against him recently?"

"Not that she's mentioned. Our last chat was reasonably uneventful. Well, other than her complaints about my substandard replacement as quartermaster, but then I did warn her against that particular choice."

Bond's eyes went wide. "You're still _talking_ to M?"

"Why, yes, but only via e-mail. She absolutely detests Skype.” Q placed his elbow on the table, then rested his chin on his hand while he pondered Bond’s look of utter and complete shock. “Is there some reason I shouldn't be?"

Still giving him an incredulous stare, Bond replied, "You're working for a self-admitted cyberterrorist who at one point threatened to _kill_ the head of MI6 and did manage to destroy most of her headquarters. Aren't you concerned that Tiago might be a little disgruntled when he discovers you're still reporting to her?"

"Rodriguez? Oh, he's promised not to monitor my computer usage as long as I promised not to do anything against the best interests of his organisation."

"And you trust him to keep his word on something that vital?"

"Don't you?"

Bond at least had the grace to look embarrassed, but Q felt no desire to help the man deal with that little _faux pas_ regarding his trust issues. _Bond_ was the one who was infatuated with the man, after all. 

In fact, the ensuing silence was so absolute that Q jumped a little when his speakers blared an e-mail alert -- this one an instrumental version of "God Save the Queen."

Bond rose from the chair, peering curiously over Q's shoulder as he accessed his e-mail account.

Shrugging, Q went ahead and opened the message. It was painfully obvious who the message was from, as Bond himself had informed him of Rodriguez's anonymous gift to M a few months back. Bond also knew Q had found the whole concept of the tacky bulldog souvenir rather amusing. Well, as long as he didn't have to listen to it, that is.

At least _his_ version of the British national anthem wasn't a barked rendition. Q did adhere to _some_ basic principles with regard to dignity and pride, unlike other people he knew.

When M's message popped up on his monitor, it was characteristically succinct:

> "Tell Bond he's fired."

Bond smirked. "A bit late with that, isn't she? Besides, I'm fairly certain I resigned first."

Before Q could reply, the e-mail alert sounded again, but _this_ message was positively verbose by M's standards:

> "However, if during his travels with Rodriguez he should happen to come across a man called Marco Sciarra, kill him. And don't miss the funeral."

Rather taken aback at the tone of this second message, Q looked up at Bond questioningly. 

Without saying a word, Bond leaned over Q's shoulder and deleted both messages. He crossed his arms over his chest, then said, "Q. I thought the whole concept behind Tiago's 'flaming demise' was to convince MI6 of his death."

"Why, yes, of course. But just MI6, not M."

"M _is_ MI6," Bond replied tersely.

Q nodded. "Yes, but since Rodriguez is 'officially' dead, she doesn't feel acutely obligated to 'bring him to justice,' so to speak." At Bond's continued silence, he added, "I believe there was some sort of 'deal' involved."

Bond looked down at him oddly. "Was there now?" His gaze drifted upward briefly, then locked back with Q's. "And what if Tiago just happens to wander into your suite while you're having one of these illicit chats with M?"

"Wander in? You mean, like you just wandered in?"

Bond nodded, quite serious now, and not rising to Q's latest verbal provocation. "Yes."

Q mentally shrugged. He didn't see any contraindications to enlightening Bond, particularly since he had precious few secrets after accepting this admittedly peculiar job. Regardless, Bond was certain to find out soon enough, as this was the longest he'd seen the agent without Rodriguez in _very_ close proximity. "I have an early warning system set up," Q finally admitted.

Bond tilted his head. "And you don't think he'd be able to manoeuvre around that? The man is a genius, as you've told me more than once, especially with regard to electronics."

Q found he didn't need to reply, because just then he heard the door to his suite reopen. He sat back slowly in his chair, counting to three under his breath. 

As he reached the count of "three", a piercing yell emanated from the outer room.

Q raised an eyebrow at a puzzled Bond. "Who said anything about an electronic alarm?"

Another yell, slightly higher pitched this time. 

"Mine is biological," Q added "Much harder to bypass. And better yet, it's only triggered when _Rodriguez_ walks into the room."

" _Madre de Dios_!" A stream of rapid-fire Spanish followed that initial outburst, and Q again raised an eyebrow. His grasp of the Spanish language consisted almost exclusively of curse words, and since he understood most of what Rodriguez was saying, he was rather reluctantly impressed at his employer's extensive repertoire.

"James! Get in here and remove this . . . creature from my person!"

As Bond walked quickly into the outer room, Q smiled and returned to tweaking his malfunctioning subroutine.

"Jesus, Tiago, hold still. It's only a cat, for heaven's sake." 

Another long, drawn out snarl from the cat in question.

"Damn," he heard Bond say. "It's like the bloody thing's stuck to you with Velcro."

"Velcro isn't normally equipped with razor-tipped claws," Rodriguez replied heatedly, followed by another spate of Spanish invective. 

Q heard Horatio emit one of his trademark hisses that indicated he was in no mood to be displaced any time soon, and he made a mental note to give the cat an extra treat tonight. He'd earned it.

He smiled to himself. He might work for a semi-reformed, mentally unbalanced professional assassin who was totally infatuated with the man who was also Q's obsession. And yes, he knew that obsession was _very_ jealously guarded by said assassin, but still, life was good.

Yet another outraged yell came from the outer room intermingled with enraged hissing and spitting.

Life was _very_ good.

*********************

Tiago Rodriguez pulled Bond closer to him in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He had to admit he was rather winded, since he hadn't been forced to work this hard maintaining his dominance in their sexual interactions for quite some time. Not that it didn't feel good to exert himself like this occasionally, but he also knew it didn't bode well for Bond's current state of mind. A discontent Bond was a sexually aggressive Bond.

Oh, Tiago knew it was mostly his fault, since any whiff of threat to his little rat tended to make him even more possessive and domineering than usual, and Bond never responded well to being tightly constrained. However, _this_ particular threat had Tiago seriously worried, which didn't occur very often.

Not very often at all.

So, Bond was going to have to live with it, at least until Tiago could contrive some method of eliminating the threat. Permanently.

Best to take the proverbial bull by the horns, however. "You seem a little distracted tonight, _pequeño_. Have you gotten bored with me so quickly?"

Bond stiffened in his arms, then turned around to face him. He didn't look Tiago directly in the eyes, and what's more, his gaze was focused blankly on the far wall. It was a look that Tiago personally disliked, because it meant his little rat was planning something.

Something that Tiago would most assuredly not like. 

He ran his hand down Bond's naked back and attempted to refocus his attention on him.

Bond pushed back immediately, however, and started to climb from their bed. When Tiago grasped his arm, preventing the manoeuvre, Bond said merely, "I need to take a shower."

Tiago sighed dramatically, but released Bond's arm, giving him his tacit permission. He had long ago learned to pick his battles with this volatile man, and he knew when Bond needed space.

He could grant him that much -- for a little while at least. He therefore made no attempt to join him, instead cleaning himself perfunctorily and getting dressed while he waited. He didn't have to wait long, as Bond most definitely did not linger in the shower. 

Another bad sign, actually.

Bond came out of the loo completely naked. He spared one defiant look at Tiago then turned toward the dresser, obviously intending to get dressed as well.

Tiago intercepted him. He was actually dreading this confrontation, even though he knew it was inevitable. He really did hate to be at odds with the man. Tiago grasped both of his upper arms before he could reach his destination, and Bond stiffened dangerously. 

"Are you deliberately attempting to provoke me, _pequeño_?"

"Why would you think that?" Bond asked, still unyielding in his arms. "Because I simply wanted to get dressed?" He turned his head to glare at Tiago, narrowing his eyes. "Or am I not allowed clothes in your presence again?"

"No, no, no. Nothing as woefully mundane as that." Tiago tsked once in irritation. "Now you are being willfully obtuse."

Still restrained by Tiago's grip, Bond tossed his head like an angry horse. "Then you'd best explain it to me."

Sighing, Tiago said, "Even after months together, you would normally enter this room with a towel around your hips, but instead you come out displaying your tantalizing body completely unadorned. Now why is that, hmm?" 

When Bond remained stubbornly silent, Tiago continued, "Shame on you. I'm quite aware of your usual operational tactics, you know. You exit a shower completely naked for two reasons. The first, of course, is when you're actively attempting to seduce someone." He nuzzled at Bond's unprotected neck and felt him shiver slightly. "However, the other reason is more nefarious. You've done it before to confound an unsuspecting enemy, attempting to get the upper hand in an impending confrontation." He hummed a little under his breath. "And the sight of you approaching while completely and gloriously naked _has_ caused just such a delay in reaction times, as we both know." 

He turned Bond in his arms, his voice getting harsher. "However, your little tricks won't work with me. First, I'm intimately familiar with your lusciously naked self, and secondly, we both know you're not currently attempting to _seduce_ me, in any case. So, dear heart, why don't you tell me what's going on in your crafty mind, hmm? What is so dire that you're subconsciously operating in active mission mode?"

Bond had kept his eyes lowered while Tiago talked, but he suddenly looked up at him and asked, "Do you know a Marco Sciarra?"

Tiago felt his eyes widen, and he knew it was useless to deny his familiarity with the name.

"Where did you hear of this man, James?" His vocal cords felt unaccountably constricted, and he was somewhat surprised he was able to get the question out at all.

"So you do know him."

" _Where_ did you hear that name?" He shook Bond slightly, incensed that the danger he had always feared had already reared its ugly head, especially when he wasn't yet prepared to counteract it. "Tell me!"

Bond shook his head, then pushed against Tiago's chest with both arms, instinctively crouching into a defensive stance afterwards.

Tiago narrowed his eyes at him. "Well, it can only have been _one_ person, could it not?" At Bond's look of slight alarm, Tiago added, "And here I thought he would _assist_ me in keeping you safe. Greater fool, I." 

He turned to storm out of the suite, and when Bond said, "Tiago, wait!" he simply ignored him, insanely furious, even if it was more at himself than the meddling quartermaster in question.

However, he couldn't afford to ignore Bond any longer when he grabbed Tiago's arm, wrenching him around in an attempt to physically stop him from leaving. With both his mind and emotions in turmoil, and feeling inexplicably trapped as he hadn't felt since Hong Kong, Tiago reflexively swung a fist at Bond's face.

Completely caught off guard, Bond released him and attempted to evade the blow, but he didn't quite manage it. He stumbled backwards, but surprisingly, he didn't try to follow through and reciprocate in kind. 

Slightly mollified by that, Tiago relented and said, "Don't worry. Your precious Q is safe. Had he not been so competent at gathering obscure and _dangerous_ information, I wouldn't have hired him in the first place." He held up a staying hand. "However, I will hear nothing more of Sciarra. He is already a dead man. He _and_ his controller." His nostrils flared. "They just don't know it yet."

Leaving a silent and contemplative Bond behind, he turned and stalked from the room.

He needed to get some air.

Then, he needed to make plans.

*********************

Q was upgrading a circuit board for one of Rodriguez's many electronic surveillance projects when Bond again dropped in to pay a visit.

"Q?" 

Waving a hand from behind a bank of computer equipment, Q said, "Over here, Bond."

He heard Bond move around the equipment bay, but he didn't bother looking up from his delicate project. Let the man wait on him for a change. 

Bond was evidently content to merely watch Q silently for a few minutes, but the agent finally said, "Are you busy?"

Q rolled his eyes. "No, I'm simply utilizing this soldering iron as an auxiliary heating unit. It gets bloody cold in here, and my landlord is a notorious skinflint."

Out of the corner of his eye, Q saw Bond's lips twitch upwards. "Not very efficient as a heating source, is it? Do you want me to bring you a cigarette lighter instead?"

"Really, Bond, is that the best you can . . . ?" Q stopped abruptly when he turned and got a good look at Bond's face. He put down the soldering iron and unplugged it. "Let me guess. You walked into a door?"

"No, I walked into a brick wall, and I don't know how to maneouvre around him." Bond paused. "I could use your help, Q."

Sighing, Q got up and walked into his sitting room, knowing Bond would follow. He sat down on the small part of the couch not currently covered in lounging cat and motioned for Bond to take the other chair. 

Bond looked at the chair and the rather large, somnolent cat sprawled on top of it with a dubious expression on his face.

"You can move him, Bond. He won't bite." Q paused. "Well, not _you_ , at least." He paused again. "He seems to like you for some unknown reason. I don't get it, personally."

Bond nudged Horatio, who yawned prodigiously, revealing his rather impressive set of teeth. He took a long time stretching all four limbs before he deigned to move from his perch, then stalked over to his food bowl.

Watching the big cat walk away, Bond asked, "How in the world did you end up with spotted cats?" 

"They came that way."

Bond narrowed his eyes at him.

Apparently, Horatio didn't find anything of interest in his food bowl and rose to peer over the counter on his hind legs, possibly searching for something a little more suitable for his picky palate. However, since he only did this when they had visitors, Q privately assumed he did this merely to show off his rather impressive stature. 

Since Q was not looking forward to the upcoming conversation, he decided to stall for a little while and satisfy Bond's curiosity in the process. "They're hybrid cats, Bond. Domestic cats crossed with a Serval wildcat, ergo, they have spots."

"And rather long claws."

"Yes, and rather long claws. Handy, those." Q thought about that little fact a while longer. "None of Rodriguez's wounds got infected, I trust?"

Bond snorted. "That's the first time I've heard you show any concern for Tiago's well-being."

"He writes the pay cheques, and these cats tend to eat . . . a lot."

"I always knew you were an altruistic soul."

"That's only one of my many charms." Q eyed Bond warily, knowing the man wasn't here on a social visit, even if Q wished he were. "Why don't you explain what you need me to do, 007, and I'll tell you why I can't do it."

"I take that back," Bond said, narrowing his eyes. "You're not altruistic, you're a bloody hopeless optimist."

Q sighed. Since the suspense was killing him, he might as well get the bad news out of the way. "I'm glad you think so. Now, what _exactly_ do you need, 007?"

"I need you to find a way to circumvent this collar."

Q had to give the man credit. When he wanted something badly enough -- something he knew would be difficult or nearly impossible for the other person to deliver -- he didn't waste words, and he looked you square in the eye when he did it. Of course, since he was asking for something that was likely to get Q killed, and in a truly gruesome manner at that, he totally negated all those aforementioned positive points.

"Oh, is that all?" Q said sarcastically.

Bond took a deep breath. "I don't need you to remove it. I don't need to be permanently 'unfindable,' I just need a few days."

"I see. Well, I would consider it, 007, but unfortunately I've already signed an employment contract with Rodriguez."

"You're going to let a piece of paper stop you? Q, I'm terribly disappointed in you."

Q spared a moment to give Bond an exasperated look. "It wouldn't be the first time. Fortunately for me, my sense of self-preservation is slightly more well developed than yours."

"That's probably not a hard thing to do."

"I concur. Regardless, when Tiago Rodriguez includes a clause stating 'grounds for termination,' I have a suspicion it means something slightly different from the average contract."

"Why would you think that?"

Q pushed his glasses a little further up his nose. "Because the word 'termination' is bolded, highlighted and then underlined three times." 

Bond grimaced. "He does have a flare for the overdramatic."

"Yes, well. As it turns out, there is only one item listed under 'grounds for termination'".

"Which is?"

"'Thou shalt not connive with James to do anything stupid. At least, not without my permission.' Also bolded, highlighted and this time underlined in a substance that looked suspiciously like blood. And no, I didn't test it. I'm reasonably certain of that fact without additional empirical evidence."

Bond sat back further in his chair. "Well, that's covered then. My request isn't by any means a 'stupid' one."

Q stared at him in silent shock, his jaw dropping. "In _your_ opinion, perhaps. I doubt very seriously Rodriguez holds the same world view."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Q covered his eyes with his hand. Maybe if he couldn't see him, the man's utterly ludicrous request would simply go away. It was worth a try at least. "Bond," he said eventually, when that hope was indeed forlorn, "you can't possibly be serious. The man would _kill_ me slowly, then revive me and start all over again. He's _that_ vindictive, at least when it comes to you."

Bond seemed to consider that, and then added, "Actually, I think he's rather that vindictive in regard to everything."

"Yes! So you agree with me, correct?"

Bond tilted his head. "Think of it as a challenge to your electronic wizardry skills, Q."

"That would be rather difficult when all I'm currently thinking about is _dying_."

Sighing, Bond said, "Just consider it, please? I wouldn't ask if it weren't direly important, and besides, if you can't do it in the first place, then it's a moot point."

"Of course I could do it, 007," Q fired back indignantly, before realizing his mistake.

Bond smiled brightly at him. "That's the spirit, Q."

Q let his head fall backwards against the couch. 

_God. He was so totally screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. First chapter up. Just a warning, however. Updates won't be as quick as anyone would like. I'm still frightfully busy in Real Life, but if I'm afraid if I don't start posting now, it likely wouldn't get posted at all. Hopefully, there is still some interest in this particular pairing out there.
> 
> If anyone is curious to know what Q's cats look like, try [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SZEPNYHMKQ). And no, I've never known nor even _heard_ of Savannahs being even remotely aggressive to humans, but Tiago just has that effect on people. ; )


	2. Chapter 2

Q was reviewing the daily feed of intercepted flash message traffic, a job only recently tasked to him by Rodriguez. It was time-consuming, because the former MI6 agent had hacked into more comm satellites than Q had even known existed. Rodriguez not only intercepted flash traffic from Britain and her allies, but he also monitored these ultra-secret communications from countries _all over the world._

Really, Q had no idea that Liechtenstein even had its own _intelligence agency_ , much less the need for a top secret communications capability. 

Live and learn, they always say. 

However, while living with Tiago Rodriguez, you tended to learn a little more than you technically should. 

Or more precisely, you learned a little more than you _lawfully_ should.

He paused when he came across a message from the American DIA, originating from the Pentagon. It was Ultra traffic, marked "US / UK / NZ / AUS eyes only." Q felt mildly guilty for even contemplating opening it, but then he shrugged. He _was_ still a British citizen, even if he wasn't actually working for MI6 at the moment. At least he still had a pension portfolio with them. 

That had to count for something.

Besides, if he _did_ assist Bond in eluding Rodriguez's clutches, he wasn't likely to be around long enough to get arrested for this particular transgression regardless.

When he got around to actually _reading_ the message, however, he blindly set his tea mug onto the desk with a discordant clatter. He reread the message again, just to make sure he didn't need to adjust the prescription on his glasses. Apparently he didn't, because it read exactly the same way the second time around.

"Well, that's vexing. What a bloody awkward thing to 'misplace,'" he muttered to himself. 

He really wondered about the Americans sometimes, since they never did anything by halves. When they dropped a clanger, they did it in the most earth-shattering, grandiose manner possible. Every. Single. Time. 

He shouldn't be surprised, since it was the American military who had originally coined the term "FUBAR"1, after all. They obviously didn't want it disappearing from the popular vernacular through disuse. 

M was going to be extremely displeased when she read this, to put it mildly. Q figured some unlucky American intelligence officer would soon be discovering firsthand how she'd earned her "dragon lady" nickname. Only a few brave souls survived one of her scathing diatribes completely unscorched.

Q paused, then saved the message to a "Pending Review" file. He'd mention it to his current employer later. _Much_ later. He knew it was a delaying tactic on his part, but he considered it a justifiable one. Rodriguez hadn't _specifically_ expressed an interest in tracking this sort of thing, after all. 

However, if he was going to be honest with himself, there was another, much more relevant reason for his procrastination. Simply put, Q had no interest in bringing _anything_ to the man's attention at the moment. He was quite certain that Rodriguez would take one look at Q's face, and say, "Aha! There's only one person in this world who is currently preserving my precarious hold on sanity, and _you're_ planning to help him leave. Now, watch what happens when I go _completely_ mad as a bag of ferrets!"

No. Not going there. 

At least, not until he had to.

Unfortunately, he'd be there rather sooner than he'd hoped, given 007's illicit pet project looming on his horizon.

Damn Bond anyway! Why couldn't Q just say "No" to him, at least every once in a while? 

Yes, the man was roguishly handsome, devastatingly charming, endearingly chivalrous, and . . .

Q banged his head onto his desk. Twice.

Sod it. He apparently knew _exactly_ why he couldn't refuse the man anything.

Well, at least he had sufficient time to make out his last will and testament. Horatio and Morcile shouldn't have to suffer because of his poor life (or death) choices. He only hoped that M liked barmy, hyperactive cats as much as she liked bulldogs. 

He was _reasonably_ certain she wasn't allergic.

*****************************

Satisfied that he'd put as many wheels into motion as he could to help defuse the current debacle, Tiago went in search of Bond. 

Well, not exactly "search", since all he had to do was check the GPS tracker built into Bond's collar. The tiny icon dutifully informed him that Bond was currently in the gym.

Typical. Tiago already knew he'd be either there or at the firing range. When Bond was stressed, he tended to either shoot something or punch something.

Tiago was well aware of this, since he had the identical inclinations when stressed.

_Obviously._

He winced. He felt vaguely sorry for punching his little rat, but then, the man should know by now that attempting to restrain Tiago while he was _that_ insanely livid wasn't exactly a shrewd plan. 

In any case, Tiago was quite certain he could make it up to him.

And that they'd _both_ enjoy the process.

He entered the gym and closed the door silently behind him, more out of habit than any particular desire for stealth. He'd been an agent long enough that doing so was second nature, and it was one of the many defense mechanisms that kept a field agent alive. You tended to adopt such things as lifelong habits, or else you ended up with a correspondingly shorter lifetime.

As Tiago walked around the cable pulley machine, however, he discovered that his little rat was slipping in this regard.

Bond was sitting on a mat in the center of the room, his hands wrapped around his knees . . . with _his back to the door._

Pfft. It was a wonder the man had survived as long as he had without Tiago's protection.

Bond had apparently been doing sit-ups or crunches, quite a few of them if the state of his breathing and the sweat drenching his naked back were any indications, but that didn't excuse such a horrendous lapse in situational awareness. 

Tiago shrugged. Perhaps he was merely playing possum? 

He walked up quietly behind Bond, but it wasn't until Tiago's _shadow_ fell directly in front of the man that he finally reacted.

Bond rolled away quickly into a defensive fighting crouch, but the look of surprise and consternation on his face dispelled any thoughts that he might have been faking his inattention. 

Heh. It was probably a good thing that Bond _had_ retired from active service. If Tiago had been in charge of MI6, he would have removed an agent from field work permanently for such a colossal lapse in judgment.

However, since this particular agent was clad only in a pair of extremely tight shorts that left little to Tiago's rather vivid imagination, he could probably force himself to forgive the error . . . this time.

In fact, he was likely to forgive him rather quickly, given the excessive amount of blood currently rushing to his cock. 

Tiago sighed. He had at least one certainty in his life -- that he'd never, _ever_ tire of staring at this delectable creature.

"Tsk, tsk, James," Tiago said, crossing his arms over his chest, and letting his eyes slowly devour Bond's glistening, exceedingly well toned body as he rose from his kneeling position. "What _ever_ are they teaching you sprogs in spy school these days?"

Bond didn't immediately fire back an indignant response, as was his usual custom. In fact, he kept his eyes lowered after standing, and he actually sidestepped slightly to remove himself from behind Tiago's shadow. 

_Por Dios_ , surely he hadn't disquieted Bond _that_ much with his furtive approach? Or perhaps their little altercation earlier had triggered a less than pleasant flashback from Bond's earlier training? Tiago had known there would be _some_ fallout from his admittedly aggressive conditioning program, but this reaction seemed a little extreme.

" _Pequeño_?" Tiago finally asked with some degree of concern when Bond remained eerily silent.

"'An agent should never present their unprotected back to an enemy or a potential enemy unless absolutely necessary,'" Bond quoted tonelessly.

Tiago snorted softly, relieved to finally get a response. _Any_ response. "Ah, so you _do_ remember." He studied the agent's rigid stance for a few moments. "Judging by your reaction to my approach -- or lack thereof -- I presumably do not fall into either of those categories?"

Bond raised his head, the vivid black and purple bruising around his left eye glaringly obvious in the bright lights of the exercise room. "You tell me," he said tightly, his eyes narrowed and some of the fire restored to his voice at last.

Tiago winced. He hadn't realized he'd hit the man quite so hard. This might actually call for a minor degree of appeasement on Tiago's part, as well as some careful, astute handling.

But then, he knew just how to handle this man, complex and mercurial as he may be, since he'd had many, many diverse opportunities to practice. 

He slowly and cautiously approached Bond, stopping very close to his still heaving chest. "I sincerely apologise, dear heart." Tiago found he didn't even have to fake the sincerity in his voice. He truly did abhor resulting to physical violence, at least when it came to this one treasured individual, and Bond was well aware of that fact. 

Tiago stretched out a hand to clasp Bond's cheek, letting his fingertips run lightly over the perpetually smooth skin that he'd been solely responsible for achieving. He heard Bond's breath hitch slightly, and he knew he was remembering that extended process -- part of the painstaking conditioning that had slowly but surely made this exceptional man his.

Bond's eyes stayed narrowed, but as Tiago's fingers drifted to a sensitive patch of skin next to his ear, he shivered slightly. This might have been caused by a sudden surge of air conditioning across his slowly cooling skin, but Tiago knew better than that. 

He stepped even closer, his greater height allowing him to breathe softly into Bond's ear as he said, "I truly am sorry, _pequeño_. Please allow me to make it up to you, hmm?" Still keeping his fingertips of one hand caressing Bond's cheek, he clasped the back of Bond's neck with the other, keeping his grip light, and more importantly, keeping his almost overwhelming need to possess this man _right now_ rigidly in check. 

If he rushed this, if he pushed too hard, Bond would rebel. And as much as Tiago loved their physical games of dominance, Tiago needed something more from Bond now. He needed Bond to yield to him. To bend his stiff neck without Tiago being forced to exert his control through physical means. 

In other words, Tiago needed reassurance that he still owned the man's heart. 

He knew he was being irrational, but events had recently careened dangerously out of Tiago's control, and this was a situation he had difficulty handling at the best of times. He fumed silently. To think that _pendejo_ Blofeld had the sheer _nerve_ to demand outright ownership of Bond. _His_ little rat!

What was even more infuriating, however, was that Tiago hadn't been able to determine exactly _why._ Both Bond and MI6 seemed blissfully unaware of SPECTRE's existence, much less its role in interfering with Bond's career and his life. It made no sense. 

At first, Tiago had thought Blofeld simply held a grudge against M and everyone in her agency, especially after he had "asked very nicely" if Raoul Silva would take responsibility for eliminating M permanently. Since this had been Tiago's ultimate goal ever since Hong Kong, he hadn't protested too much. Especially since, in exchange, Blofeld had agreed to cease his attempts at wresting control of Tiago's own organisation.

He inwardly smiled. Not that Blofeld had very much success with _that_ endeavour, either. The man was dull as dishwater and had absolutely no imagination whatsoever. 

But ever since Tiago had captured Bond and thereafter taken complete possession of the man, it had become woefully apparent that Blofeld's interest was _not_ in M, or even MI6. No, it was Bond himself, and it was something personal. Something _very_ personal. Tiago hadn't identified any previous direct contact between the two men, but then, Ernst Stavros Blofeld had appeared very suddenly and very mysteriously out of absolutely nowhere. 

And the man who had become Raoul Silva knew quite well what _that_ little detail implied.

Tiago detested the unknown. He couldn't effectively counteract what he didn't know, and therefore he couldn't safeguard that which was most precious to him. Until Tiago had events back under his control, his protective instincts regarding Bond would only exponentially intensify. It was simply part of Tiago's innate nature. He _had_ to reaffirm that Bond still belonged to him.

Only to him. Beyond any shadow of a doubt. And since this fact became most apparent when Bond submitted to him sexually. . .

Well, as he'd said before, he could make the inevitable process pleasurable for both of them.

Tiago tilted Bond's face up with gentle pressure, bending down to meet his lips, nuzzling gently, but still demanding access.

Perhaps Bond subconsciously sensed Tiago's need for control, or perhaps he was also weary of being at odds, but he almost immediately acquiesced, allowing Tiago to take control of the kiss with no fuss whatsoever. 

Tiago took his time, devouring Bond's mouth, ravishing it completely as he hadn't in months. He ran his free hand down Bond's naked back, simultaneously soothing and controlling. He loved how he could make the man tremble under his touch, just from the deft, light caresses on his sensitive skin. There wasn't an erogenous zone on Bond's body that Tiago couldn't play like a well tuned violin, and he took shameless advantage of that fact.

When Bond had relaxed enough under this sensual onslaught, Tiago skillfully loosened the drawstring on his shorts with one hand. Bond unconsciously moved his lower body far enough away for Tiago to slip the fabric over his buttocks and allow it to pool on the floor, but then he immediately molded himself back against Tiago's body after stepping out of them. This was fine with Tiago, since the man was wearing absolutely nothing underneath the shorts.

Tiago smiled. Even while still mildly miffed at him, Bond unconsciously adhered to Tiago's wishes regarding his apparel, as well as remained ever so delightfully responsive to his touch. The man must live vicariously through his hormones.

Caressing a handful of naked arse, Tiago hummed contentedly under his breath. As much as he adored the feel of skin on skin, he also appreciated encounters like this one -- where he remained fully clothed, and Bond was so absolutely, gloriously naked. It helped alleviate his craving for control and dominance, and besides, he was more than capable of making Bond blissfully incoherent using only his hands and his mouth. 

Oh, yes. That sounded like a _wonderful_ plan for the evening. 

Therefore, when Bond attempted to move things along by pressing his lengthening cock against Tiago's thigh, Tiago broke off the kiss and stepped back, raising an eyebrow in admonishment when Bond moved to follow him.

Bond opened his mouth as if to argue, but once again seemed to sense Tiago's need for obedience and stood quietly instead, albeit reluctantly.

Tiago circled him slowly, like a hungry shark, reaching out a hand to stroke a hip or outline a prominent shoulder blade. After he had looked and caressed his fill, he moved up behind Bond, grasping his hands in his and holding them tightly against the man's chest as he nuzzled his ear and neck. He knew the hold was inordinately possessive, and Bond usually fretted at such forced immobility, but for now he passively tolerated the constraint, and he actually moaned in appreciation when Tiago found an especially sensitive spot.

"What you do to me, James," Tiago said in satisfaction, enthusiastically marking his neck, again indulging his near obsessive need to possess the man. When Bond grunted in mild protest, Tiago released one arm and then playfully spun him in a half circle. 

Bond gave him one of his patented glares, tugging on his captured hand, and Tiago laughed. Bond had told him once, "I don't dance backwards _or_ in high heels, so don't treat me like fucking Ginger Rogers." This was, of course, absolutely the _wrong_ thing to say to Tiago Rodriguez, since he merely considered this a challenge.

He pulled Bond close to his chest again, kissing him soothingly in mute apology while he mollified him again through continuous light, caressing strokes to his back and arse. After a suitable length of time -- when Bond was once more passionately engaged in the proceedings -- Tiago whispered into his ear, "Lie down on the mat for me please, James."

Bond didn't immediately respond, evidently preferring to resume their kiss, so Tiago again took matters into his own hands. He hooked a leg behind Bond's knees and brought them both abruptly to the floor.

Bond let out a small "Oof" of surprise, again glaring up at Tiago as he sprawled fully on top of him. "You're taking a great deal of liberties tonight," Bond said with light reproach. 

"I intend to take a great deal more liberties," Tiago responded, his voice deepening dangerously. He grasped Bond's hands firmly and held them over his head. 

Bond's eyes dilated almost immediately. Even after all their time together, the man still responded gratifyingly quickly to being restrained by Tiago, even if he claimed _not_ to enjoy it. This was a defense mechanism on Bond's part, of course, but it was one that Tiago allowed him to keep, as long as it garnered this type of delightful reaction.

Now, time to take this one step further. A step that Bond was not _quite_ as comfortable with.

"Let me bind you," he said, his mouth once again finding Bond's neck.

He felt Bond stiffen beneath him, even as he squirmed a little under Tiago's ravishing mouth. His little rat wasn't especially fond of being _manually_ restrained, since he didn't typically experience it as a form of pleasure in his line of work. Understandable, actually, when you think about it.

But on very, very special occasions, he would submit to it. 

Tiago knew quite well Bond would permit this with no one else, and it normally filled Tiago with a sense of possessive pride when he did agree to it without duress. Of course, Tiago didn't always give Bond the option, especially if he was being punished for some transgression.

And on this particular night, Tiago was _quite_ sure he wouldn't take "No" for an answer regardless. But then, Bond didn't need to be aware of _that_ little fact. He'd cross that stream if they ever got to it.

Bond's eyes went distant, and Tiago braced himself. He knew that look. The man was scheming again, and that definitely did not bode well for Tiago's already tattered self control.

As if reading his mind, Bond bent up to kiss him quickly on the mouth and said, "Tell me what you know about Sciarra, and I'll agree to it."

Tiago felt his eyes narrowing in oblique anger. "Now who is taking excessive liberties, James?" he asked forbiddingly. "We have covered the futility of bargaining with me before, as well as its inherent dangers."

Bond made a small move beneath him, possibly considering an attempt to throw him off, but then evidently reconsidered. 

_Wisely so._

"And I thought we'd discussed the dangers inherent in keeping me totally in the dark," Bond replied, his voice surprisingly flat and absolutely free of any trace of anger or reproach.

It was for this reason, and this reason alone, that Tiago reconsidered his rigid stance on the subject. "All right, _pequeño_ ," he said slowly. "I will agree to tell you about Sciarra, but at a time of my choosing." He tsked sharply when Bond opened his mouth to protest. "I have _other_ plans for you tonight, little one, and I have no desire to ruin this evening further by discussing _that man_." He fairly spat the last two words.

Bond considered this for a few moments, then nodded slightly, his tense form immediately relaxing under Tiago's hold.

Of course, Tiago hadn't agreed to tell Bond _all_ that he knew. But then, what Bond didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. Right?

"Very well," Tiago said, rising from his sprawled position over Bond. "Stay there," Tiago warned, as Bond also made a move to rise.

His little rat looked endearingly confused. "We're not taking this to the bedroom?" he asked.

Tiago rifled through his "special" cabinet on a nearby wall, then said, "Unless you plan on walking completely naked and gloriously aroused through the compound, I'd suggest you stay right where you are." He brought back a pair of padded handcuffs and smiled down at Bond. "Although it was immensely amusing to see the look on Diego's face when he chanced upon us in the hallway last time." He considered this for a moment, then added, "However, since our favourite _medico_ is not currently in residence, who knows whom we might encounter in the big, bad beyond, hmm?" He waggled an eyebrow at Bond playfully, his good mood effectively restored.

"I'm not an exhibitionist," Bond reminded him hotly.

"Then I'd suggest you stop arguing and give me your hands," Tiago responded, kneeling by Bond's head. "At least we're alone here."

Once he'd made up his mind, Bond complied with remarkable alacrity, and Tiago once again found himself soothed by the man's casual obedience. 

Tiago attached one cuff, stretched the man's hands up to a nearby weight bench that was conveniently riveted to the floor, and looped the handcuffs around, clasping the other cuff with a very satisfying click.

He briefly considered binding Bond's legs as well, but finally determined it would limit his ease of access and decided against it. Tiago spent some time merely admiring the view, appreciating the definition of Bond's biceps and abdominal muscles while his hands were stretched tightly above his head. 

Bond flushed slightly under his intense scrutiny, and Tiago chuckled lightly. "You're still not comfortable with a compliment from me, even if it's not verbal, are you, _pequeño_?"

"I'd be more comfortable if you'd come back down here," Bond said.

Tiago slowly smiled. "Having you 'comfortable' is absolutely _not_ my plan for tonight."

Bond shivered, no doubt having already surmised what Tiago had in store for him. He knew Tiago liked to take things maddeningly slow at times like this, but he never protested the treatment.

_Much._

Tiago decided he'd do his utmost not to disappoint him in that regard. Going to his knees, and fully appreciating the padding of the thick mat, Tiago proceeded to take his little rat apart at the seams. He began at his neck and slowly, ever so slowly, worked his way down the man's body, using his hands and his mouth to lick, suck and nip until Bond was fairly squirming beneath him. 

He of course bypassed the genitals, since he was planning to make this encounter last as long as possible. Besides, he'd found that Bond was devilishly sensitive at both his knees and his calves, especially the area immediately surrounding his collar. 

Eventually, Bond appeared to have suffered enough of his gentle teasing. "Damn it, Tiago, touch me!"

Tiago looked up from where he was stroking the back of Bond's knee, nibbling his way up his inner thigh and stopping just short of the man's balls. "Do you have somewhere specific in mind?" Tiago asked innocently, "because I thought I was _already_ doing that." He reached up to stroke Bond's hip bone in a light circle.

Bond moaned aloud at this exceptionally inflaming touch to his hip. Tiago was pleased that his imprinting still held -- that he could still bring the man to incoherence from this one simple caress.

Tiago kept up the small circles on his hip and dragged a fingertip from his other hand to Bond's groin, just grazing his sensitive perineum. 

As Tiago once again retreated, Bond gasped and pulled sharply on his hands, no doubt intending to keep Tiago from moving any further from where he needed him to be.

"Shh," Tiago soothed, once again drawing the finger toward Bond's groin, making a tiny circle and just barely touching his balls. He lowered his head until his mouth hovered over Bond's cock, again softly repeating, "Shhhh" and letting the exhalation wash over his twitching, leaking cock. He cleaned the fluid gathering on Bond's abdomen with delicate, teasing licks that carefully avoided touching his cock directly.

Bond squirmed and moaned, attempting to bring his cock in contact with Tiago's mischievous mouth, but Tiago would have none of that. 

"So lovely, so lovely you are, dear heart." He bent down and breathed in deeply, loving the essence of an aroused, sweat-slickened Bond as he loved nothing else. "You'd remain just like this, hopelessly aroused, until I allowed otherwise, wouldn't you?" He was so close to Bond's cock that he'd need only extend his tongue ever so slightly to taste him. "You wouldn't move, even when you so desperately needed to, just because I asked it of you."

Bond twitched again at his proximity, but his effort to remain motionless was so painfully obvious, it swelled Tiago's heart.

Tiago wet his lips with his tongue, watching Bond's eyes widen at the sight. While he was thus distracted, Tiago reached a hand to again stroke Bond's hip, delighting in the helpless moan that resulted. 

Yet still the man remained frozen in place, awaiting Tiago's pleasure, even as he frankly shook with frustrated desire.

Delighted beyond all measure by Bond's obedience, Tiago whispered, "Tell me you belong to me, James, and I'll touch you. Tell me."

Before Bond even had time to respond, however, Tiago heard the door to the gym open.

"Horatio?" The door closed again. "Are you in here, you bloody ungrateful cat?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! Yes, I know, worst possible cliffhanger, ever. But there's method to my madness. Really! I'm hoping not too many people are diametrically opposed to having a little bit of a threesome going on, especially if it's mostly vicarious, hmm? Don't worry, I don't plan on running with that long term, since I'm seriously keen on the Tiago/James OTP aspect of this particular universe, but I don't see the harm in letting Q in on a _little_ bit of the fun. Let me know what you think.
> 
> 1 Many of you are already familiar with the term FUBAR ("fucked up beyond all recognition") and its companion SNAFU ("situation normal, all fucked up"), but did you know that in 1943, the War Department commissioned a series of animated cartoons from the Warner Brothers studio featuring a character by the name of Private Snafu? The films were racy, humorous and designed to teach safety and military protocol to the barely literate. They were classified at the time, only to be viewed by military personnel, and featured the voice of Mel Blanc as Private Snafu. They were written in part by Dr. Seuss. 
> 
> No, I am NOT making this up. Would I lie to you? Well yes, I would (fan _fiction_ anyone?), but in this case, I'm absolutely not. The animated shorts have since been declassified, are in the public domain, and you can find them on the Internet. Consider this your esoteric WWII trivia for the day. Enjoy.
> 
> But, wait! BEFORE you rush off to view the adventures of Private Snafu and his mentor, Technical Fairy First Class, take a moment to drop me a line and let me know what you think about _my_ fiction, hmm? 
> 
> Tiago would definitely want you to. ; )


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this has turned out to be one long, involved sex scene, so if you're not into that sort of thing, you might want to skip this one. I promise I'll get back the actual plot next chapter. Really.
> 
> But c'mon, aren't you just the teensiest bit curious how Q is going to react to what he finds, hmm?
> 
> Just saying.

" _Madre de Dios_ ," Tiago swore under his breath. 

Perhaps he ought to reconsider his standard procedure of leaving doors unlocked behind him, but in his own defence, he hadn't initially come here _intending_ to molest Bond. 

Was it his fault the man was nigh irresistible?

As for Bond, he looked more than vaguely horrified at the interruption, but as he had said many times before, he truly wasn't an exhibitionist. 

Still, Bond _was_ rather fond of the young quartermaster. . .

Hmm. Tiago wasn't generally inclined to share what was his, by any means, but he believed he could manage a limited scenario as long as strict limits were imposed. Besides, Bond had been unusually testy with Tiago recently, so he was probably due for some minor reinforcement of his obedience training anyway. And what better method than requiring Bond to passively accept a situation he wasn't completely comfortable with?

Besides, it wouldn't hurt to teach Q a little lesson in employee compliance as well.

Tiago smiled. Actually, this _might_ even be fun. Every once in a while, he felt the need to shake things up a bit. No sense falling into a rut when you didn't have to, because boredom beget ennui, and ennui was exceedingly dangerous in his line of work.

He rose from the mat and walked around the gym equipment that was very conveniently blocking the view of the room's other occupant. He then leaned casually against a rack of free weights. Q hadn't seen him approach, for the simple reason that he had his back to him.

Tiago sighed internally. Did _everyone_ in MI6 walk around with their backs to potential threats these days? It was so damned pervasive that Tiago assumed they must be actually _teaching_ them bad habits. _Idiotas_. That was probably why their young agents, like Moneypenny for example, were such horrendous marksmen. Who needed to spend time practicing on a firing range if you were just going to get shot in the back anyway? 

When it appeared as if Q might actually leave without even noticing him standing there, Tiago said nonchalantly, "Missing someone?"  
.  
Q whirled around at the sound of his voice.

How interesting. He knew Q hadn't spotted Bond, and since Tiago was still fully clothed, he had no way of knowing what he'd _actually_ interrupted. And yet, Q looked decidedly guilty about _something_. Tiago narrowed his eyes. He had become quite proficient at reading expressions given his rather precarious lifestyle, and it was painfully obvious that Q was terrified, even if he was doing a rather masterful job at concealing it.

 _Hmm. Afraid of little old me? Now, what could the young man have possibly done to cause_ that _sort of reaction?_

He supposed it could just be the situation with Sciarra, but he doubted Bond had even mentioned Tiago's rather virulent reaction to that disclosure. Bond was too protective of Q and played things too close to the chest to burden the quartermaster with that, especially if he thought he could simply protect the young man from Tiago's ire.

No, Bond would have _definitely_ downplayed the reason for his spectacular black eye.

However, eliminating that theory brought a more disturbing possibility to mind. Had his little rat and new employee perhaps gotten closer than they should? He'd had enough surveillance on Q during the time of Tiago's "death" to know that nothing illicit had happened back when Bond had been at his most vulnerable emotionally, but Tiago had no surveillance on Q's suite here in the compound. 

For one thing, Q was enough of an electronics genius that he would have simply located and removed the surveillance, but more importantly, once Tiago decided to trust someone, he preferred not to second guess himself in matters that crucial.

Well, even if he didn't consider it a _likely_ possibility, there was definitely one way for him to find out for sure, wasn't there? And this was yet another reason for implementing his previous decision. Tiago wasn't one to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself on a silver platter. He did prefer to plan ahead, of course, but the fine art of improvisation held some merit as well.

"Rodriguez!" Q said belatedly, but he was already backing toward the door. "Sorry to disturb you. I was just looking for a missing cat, and since it's obvious he's not here. . . "

Tiago smiled, but he was quite sure it never reached his eyes, and Q, being a very observant sort himself, apparently noticed this.

That is, if the nervous swallowing was any indication.

"But you haven't searched the _entire_ room, Q," Tiago said slyly.

"No, but he'd have shown himself by now if he were here," Q said, steadfastly avoiding Tiago's eyes as he spoke. "He's smart enough not to provoke the provider of the cat food." His hand reached for the doorknob. 

Very well. As much as he detested it, sometimes physical intervention was indeed necessary.

Tiago walked over to Q, grabbed a hold of his upper arm, and said, "Why don't we look for him together, hmm?" Without waiting for a response, he dragged the faintly protesting Q toward the center of the room and around the concealing equipment. 

When Q finally spotted Bond in all his naked and bound glory, however, he stopped abruptly enough that he actually threw Tiago off balance. 

"That is definitely _not_ my cat," he said.

Not releasing Q's arm, Tiago squinted myopically at Bond. "You know, I think you might be right. I don't believe it _is_ a cat." He leaned over and whispered into Q's ear, "Pardon my insatiable curiosity, but _why_ is it so hard to keep track of your blasted cat anyway?"

Still not taking his eyes off Bond, Q replied distractedly, "Because he refuses to wear a bloody collar, and he isn't the _least_ bit fond of being tied up." 

Since Q wasn't currently staring at Bond's _face_ , he totally missed the scathing glare directed at him, but Tiago winced. To be fair to Bond, the man wasn't especially fond of being tied up either, especially judging by the faintly murderous look on his face currently.

"Oh, dear," Tiago said in an undertone. "Don't worry, Q," he added, patting him sympathetically on the shoulder. "James lost his licence to kill when he resigned from MI6, so you're _probably_ safe." He paused dramatically. "I wouldn't linger long in dark corridors though."

Q's eyes went wide when he finally realized what he'd said, and his gaze moved guiltily to Bond's face. His back straightened at Bond's glare, and he said in an embarrassed rush, "Sorry, 007, didn't mean that precisely like it sounded. Or actually, how that sounded at all." He groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. "Oh, bloody hell, just kill me now."

Laughing out loud, Tiago pulled a stumbling Q closer to the tableau on the floor. As he'd assumed, there was absolutely no way these two had ever been physically intimate, not given _that_ sort of adorable reaction. Perhaps it _was_ merely knowing that he'd overstepped his boundaries by passing on information about Sciarra. 

Regardless, Tiago wasn't likely to miss this opportunity to assert his control, and over the both of them, no less. He was liking this better and better.

Bond had bent both knees, probably in an instinctive measure to hide his obvious need from the new audience. _That_ certainly would not do, especially since Tiago had not given him permission to conceal himself from view. 

Well, many hands make light work, or so they say.

"Q?" Tiago asked. When he didn't get an immediate response, he pulled the hand away from Q's face and said distinctly, "I could use your help for a few minutes. With James," he added, when he still didn't get a response.

He had to force himself not to smile at the look of abject terror on Q's face. 

"Uhm, I don't have time? I mean, I'm sure there's something I should be doing. Elsewhere," Q replied desperately. "Some sort of computer thingie, I'm certain of it."

Tiago waved a hand in dismissal. "You have the rest of the day off. I can do that, you know. I'm your _boss_." He emphasized the last word slightly, but Q was a bright boy and had already come to the realization that he wasn't getting out of this easily.

"I could fetch some water?" Q asked hopefully. "Bond does look a tad overheated."

Tiago laughed again, thoroughly enjoying himself now that he knew his little rat hadn't strayed. He merely shook his head in reply to that suggestion and then pulled Q along until he was standing by the mat. He pushed down on his shoulders until the young man got the message and knelt next to Bond's right side, albeit extremely reluctantly.

"Tiago!" Bond said sharply, having lost some but not all of his erection during that ever so delightful interruption.

"Shhh," Tiago said, moving to Bond's other side and gripping a hip in admonishment when he appeared ready to object again.

Groaning, Bond subsided, and Tiago patted an upraised knee in approval. He then grabbed Bond's left ankle, and without further warning, forcibly brought the limb back down to the mat. 

Bond knew better than to resist the implied command to _keep_ it there. Or else.

"Now, Q," Tiago said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I'd like you to take his right ankle and make sure his leg stays flat on the mat." When Q still hesitated, Tiago said, "Come now, don't be shy. If he gives you any trouble, I still have the option of activating the shock function of the collar."

Bond knew very well this was a warning to him rather than a helpful instruction for Q, and he hissed a sharp breath through his teeth in response.

With a resigned sigh, Q gently grabbed Bond's right ankle and pulled his leg straight to the mat. 

Bond wisely did not resist that motion either, even if it was substantially less forceful than Tiago's had been on the opposite side.

Tiago locked eyes with Bond. "Now, _pequeño_ , where were we?" When Bond didn't reply, he sighed and said, "Well, I guess we'll have to start from scratch then, hmm?"

Running his hand lightly down Bond's smooth chest, Tiago said conversationally to Q, "With all this impressive musculature, you'd be surprised how sensitive James' skin is." With one hand stroking his abdomen, he reached with the other to pinch a nipple, and Bond twitched in response. He then continued to caress along his chest and abdomen, purposefully keeping his touches light and teasing.

"In fact, there is one particular spot along his ribs where he's actually extremely ticklish." Tiago leaned closer to Q and whispered, "Do you want to see where?"

Bond's eyes widened in mute horror, but he finally managed, "God, Tiago, _no_."

Smiling widely, Tiago moved his fingertips slowly toward the spot in question, and when Bond attempted to turn his torso away, he held him down with one hand on a thigh and then mercilessly attacked the sensitive ribs with the other. As Bond yelped in dismay, Tiago added, "Of course, it's worse when he's bound and helpless and has absolutely no way of evading the touch." 

He winked at Q, who was watching with wide, fascinated eyes. "Makes him positively _desperate_ , if you know what I mean."

Bond bucked and twisted in an attempt to dislodge Tiago's tormenting fingers, but with his hands bound and his legs restrained, there was little he could actually do. 

Bond was well aware Tiago wouldn't stop until he actually begged him to. It would certainly be embarrassing for him with Q as a witness, but Tiago knew he'd break down eventually. The adorable man was already gasping for breath and pleading with his eyes.

However, at that moment Bond actually managed to wrench his right ankle from Q's grasp, and he physically knocked Tiago away with his freed leg. 

Tiago rolled with the impact, then picked himself off the floor, the shark's smile already on his face. Oh, Bond knew he shouldn't have defied him like that, but it's amazing what desperation will do to a man sometimes. 

As Tiago moved back to the man's side, he saw Bond watching him with wide eyes, his breath still heaving. Regardless of Bond's instinctive response to being held down and tormented in such a manner, the implied domination of the act was obviously still a turn-on for him, as he'd regained most of his previous erection. 

Oh, how he loved taking advantage of this man's repressed desires.

Tiago sat cross-legged next to him and watched him reprovingly, motioning Q to silence when it seemed the young man was about to speak. He noted with amusement that Q had re-applied his hold on Bond's ankle without requiring further direction. 

At least _someone_ in this room was trainable.

Tiago hummed quietly under his breath. He and Bond had long passed the point where actual words were required for discipline purposes, and Tiago could be a very patient man when he wanted to be. He knew that his disapproval alone would be enough to break through Bond's disobedience. Besides, it was a good object lesson for Q as well.

Eventually, as he'd known he would, Bond lowered his eyes and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Tiago."

"Hmm," Tiago said, pointedly not acknowledging the apology. He turned to look at Q. "Don't look so distressed, Q. He does tend to get rather sweaty and slippery during encounters like this. That's part of his appeal actually." He rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. "Perhaps you should try gripping him by his collar instead?" 

Q looked aghast. "Are you sure?" he asked, then stared at his hands as if he were afraid Tiago would cut them off if he dared to move them. 

Really. He had no idea why people found him so intimidating. Perhaps it was the accent? 

Tiago rolled his eyes, then nodded firmly at Q. "Yes, I'm quite certain that would be best. Why take unnecessary chances with strained muscles," he tapped his own face, "or potential broken noses?"

Q looked first at Tiago, then at Bond, but slowly his hand moved from Bond's ankle to the gleaming, black band just above the ankle joint. 

As he'd expected, Bond flinched perceptibly when Q's hand finally settled on the collar. He couldn't feel it directly, of course, but no one but Tiago had touched that symbol of his ownership since his ordeal with the _firmas_ deputy, Miguel. And as their attachment had grown, Bond's own propriety regarding the collar had increased as well. He had even requested that Diego avoid the collar unless absolutely necessary, and his trust in the kind-hearted physician was otherwise absolute.

Tiago also knew that the collar's very existence made it a unique erogenous zone for the man, at least when it was manipulated by Tiago himself. He was rather curious if this same level of trust and sensitivity would transfer to Q, at least with Tiago in attendance and . . . assisting, that is.

Oh, yes, this might be _very_ interesting indeed.

Bond was entirely too focused on the strange hand manipulating his collar, and the muscles of his abdomen had tensed perceptibly. This would definitely not do. Tiago therefore attempted to divert him by turning his face toward his and kissing him senseless. He'd found this was a form of distraction that he was rather superb at, if he didn't say so himself. 

Bond finally relaxed as he submitted to Tiago's hold and the intensely familiar sensation of his mouth against his. It was good to know that _some_ things never changed.

When he'd determined that Bond was ready for the next step, Tiago released him and again addressed Q. "Feel free to examine the collar _thoroughly_ , since I'm sure you're curious about it." 

Q didn't immediately respond, so Tiago took the time to grab a cushion from the top of the weight bench and prop it under Bond's neck and shoulders. He wanted to be certain that Bond had an unobstructed view of the proceedings. 

Tiago was sure he'd thank him for it later. 

Q looked up at him dubiously, so Tiago continued, "It's made from a unique ferrous compound of my own design that incorporates superb conductivity with a smooth texture that virtually eliminates damage to the skin due to friction." He smiled contentedly. "This is extremely important in James' case, of course, since it will _never_ be removed except for repair and maintenance." When Q still seemed inclined to hesitate, he said, "Come now, Q, I know you want to give it more than just a cursory examination, hmm?"

Bond opened his mouth, presumably to utter yet another protest, so Tiago tapped him on his hip again in mute warning. Q still looked ready to bolt, and he didn't want Bond adding to the young man's obvious discomfort. 

Well, any more than seeing Bond in his significantly aroused state did, that is.

Tentatively at first, Q began to glide his fingertips over the top of the collar, and he was so engrossed in this task that he failed to notice that Tiago had mimicked the exact same stroke on Bond's cock.

As soon as Bond jerked in reaction, however, Q looked up and then froze when he finally realized what was going on.

Tiago, of course, stilled his own hand to match Q, his eyebrow lifting challengingly.

Always the quick learner, Q swallowed heavily, but he continued the gentle exploration of the collar as Tiago again followed suit, keeping his touch light and teasing to match. When Q allowed his fingers to stray to the delicate skin around the ankle, Tiago's hand drifted down to Bond's balls, stroking the equally soft skin there.

Neither one of them hurried.

Tiago smiled. For some _totally_ inexplicable reason, Q no longer appeared quite so eager to leave. In fact, his expression was positively entranced as he watched Bond quivering under their dual assault.

Of course, Q had probably never imagined he'd have an opportunity to touch Bond in _any_ manner, so he had apparently decided to go with the flow and worry about the consequences later. 

_Much_ later, if the slow, steady movements of Q's wandering hands were any indication.

He raised an eyebrow encouragingly as Q returned his focus to the collar. 

Q paused to again make significant eye contact with Tiago, then he grasped the collar tighter and moved his hand slowly along the entire accessible section. Tiago smiled, obligingly gripping Bond's cock as well, stroking him from root to tip in time with Q's actions.

The combined teasing from Tiago and the erotic manipulation of his collar by another man had propelled Bond very quickly into full hardness, and he was breathing heavily, his cock once again leaking significantly in response.

Q watched in rapt fascination as Bond closed his eyes in attempt to block out some of the visual stimulation, but Tiago would have none of that either. 

_Time to move things along._

He inclined his head sharply at Q in a silent command, wondering casually if the bright young man would comprehend Tiago's unvoiced suggestion.

Q looked at him rather doubtfully, but he slowly and carefully lifted Bond's ankle, again pausing briefly for Tiago to object, before he began to determinedly stroke the previously inaccessible section of collar _beneath_ Bond's ankle.

Tiago sighed appreciatively. "Ah, excellent, _excellent_ choice," he said in a low voice.

Bond's eyes flew open, but he couldn't seem to make up his mind whether to lock eyes with Tiago or Q, and his confusion and escalating need were delightfully plain on his face.

Well, it would become abundantly clear to the dear thing shortly what was about to happen. 

Gently removing the pillow from beneath Bond's shoulders, Tiago moved it down to Bond's hips, elevating them slightly for ease of access. He then brought Bond's left leg up, bending it at the knee and moving it slightly to the side, so that his luscious arse was more effectively displayed.

Tiago heard someone gasp. He wasn't sure if it was Bond or Q, because he was too busy stroking a hand down Bond's now delightfully exposed perineum. 

Q couldn't seem to take his eyes off Bond in this ultimately vulnerable position, seeming to be utterly fascinated. He did, however, dutifully maintain his grip on Bond's leg, keeping it slightly elevated, even as it twitched beneath his hands uncontrollably. Finally, Q stared fixedly at Tiago and began to make small circles on the underside of the collar.

Bond groaned, knowing full well what Tiago's inevitable response to _that_ would be. 

Tiago laughed. "You amaze me, Q. Here I thought your potential for becoming a consummate hacker would be hindered by your lack of imagination." He gave him a broad wink in approval. "Evidently, all you needed was the proper inspiration."

Obediently, following Q's lead, Tiago spread Bond's arse cheeks with one hand while he began making small circles around Bond's entrance with the other. 

Bond was actively attempting not to fidget, with little success given the dual assaults on his sprawled and exposed body. He looked up at Tiago with an openly beseeching expression on his face, and Tiago heard Q groan aloud at the sight. 

Yes, Tiago had to agree that once Bond dropped his formidable personal barriers, he was quite an invigorating sight indeed. Just thinking how such a dangerous man could be brought to this state merely through his touch had always been an incredible turn-on for Tiago. 

It evidently had the same effect on Q, if the glassy look in the young man's eyes was any indication.

Tiago said, "So, do you have a specific plan in mind for finishing him, Q?"

Q finally seemed capable of getting his vocal cords working again. "I thought that planning was your forte, Rodriguez."

"Well, yes, I did indeed have a plan, but that was before we were so inopportunely interrupted." He followed Q's movements as he moved one hand to stroke the upper side of the collar and again instituted long, slow caresses to Bond's twitching cock in response. "I _was_ planning on finishing him with my mouth, but that seems somehow selfish on my part, since it would undoubtedly impede your view."

Swallowing once, Q said, "Perhaps . . . something else then," Q said tentatively, dropping his eyes to examine Bond's sweat-slick face.

Bond, who had been teetering on the brink for quite some time, finally seemed to snap, as he said, "Could you make up your bloody minds and do _something_ , for God's sake?"

"Hmm," Tiago said, "and once again, I thought we _were_ actually doing something." He arched an eyebrow at Q. "What do you think, Q? Is there perhaps something else we should attempt to move things along?"

Q had apparently lost all of his remaining initial reluctance, as his expression suddenly firmed decisively. He kept the hand on the upper collar moving slowly and said, "I'm sure we can come up with something, if we put our minds to it." He sat back on his heels, propping Bond's lower leg across his thighs.

Tiago had designed the collar to fit snugly, so as not to be removed, but there was enough leeway for cleaning and tending to the underlying skin. He was not an innately cruel man. As it turns out, there was just enough room, given the lubrication of Bond's sweat, for Q to insert a finger between the collar and the skin beneath, as long as he worked at it slowly and in small increments.

Tiago smiled. There was a reason why he had hired this man, because he knew a brilliantly inspired mind when he saw it. 

"Yes, yes, I do believe you may have something there, Q, but hold that thought," he said, as he stood long enough to retrieve a tube of lube from the cabinet. After he had slicked his own fingers, he tossed the tube to Q, who fumbled a bit before he also used the substance to good effect. 

Bond was eyeing them both with a combination of trepidation and anticipation that was truly an irresistible look on him. Tiago took his time inserting one finger, and one finger only, in and out of Bond's entrance in the same tempo as Q's finger beneath the collar.

Bond jerked again, nearly dislodging Q's grip, but Tiago removed the hand currently stroking his cock long enough to slap him sharply on the hip. Once Bond had obediently stilled, he resumed where he had left off, lengthening his forays into Bond's arse as Q was able to stroke faster and further under the collar with the assistance of the lubrication.

Q switched to two fingers and Tiago followed suit, knowing that it wouldn't take much more to bring his little rat over the edge. Tiago had never before allowed another man to join them, and the relentless stimulation from two sets of hands was rapidly undoing him, despite his initial reluctance.

Just as Tiago had pushed far enough in Bond's arse to reach his prostate with the two fingers, Q also increased the grip and speed of his upper hand. Tiago obligingly stroked Bond's cock with his free hand and nudged hard against the sensitive gland with the other, knowing how this combination would utterly destroy Bond's remaining tattered composure. 

Bond trembled uncontrollably, restrained and engulfed on all sides by merciless hands, and Tiago could tell me was very, very close.

Evidently Q could tell also, because he abruptly slowed his movements, which Tiago likewise mirrored, although with a surprised grunt at the young man's boldness. 

Bond groaned a soft, "No," in response, but Q determinedly did not change his tempo one iota.

Tiago obliged him for a few minutes, but then cleared his throat delicately. "As much as I hate to bring this interlude to an end, if we continue much longer like this, his pleasure will shortly turn into pain." He raised another eyebrow at Q. "Unless you happen to be into that sort of thing, hmm?"

Q jolted visibly. "No, of course not," he said, but the reluctance was still clear on his face. 

He undoubtedly felt this would be his only chance to witness Bond in the throes of passion, and Tiago was reasonably certain he'd be correct in that assumption. While this had been an interesting experiment, Tiago was entirely too possessive of his little rat to allow it on a regular basis.

With a ragged sigh, Q did finally increase his pace, and Bond gave a full body shudder in response. 

Bond had his head tipped back now, breathing in great gulps of air, and he was still attempting to keep from moving his hips in tandem with Tiago's rapidly stroking hands. His right leg, however, was trembling uncontrollably under Q's determined onslaught of the collar and the delicate skin beneath it, and together, as Tiago had known, it was more than Bond could withstand.

As Tiago pressed more firmly inside, rubbing incessantly at the small nodule with no reprieve, Bond's back arched and he came with a long groan, the muscles in his arms and abdomen staining with the effort while he was so securely restrained. 

Tiago had forgotten how truly magnificent the man was while still bound and totally wrecked in the aftermath of his climax, and it was suddenly all he could do not to plunge into him immediately, regardless of their audience.

However, he would respect Bond's wishes, as there were some things that remained very private indeed between the two of them. He said hoarsely, "Don't you have a cat to locate, Q?"

Q was still staring at Bond in apparent awe. "What cat?" he replied dazedly. When he caught the intent look in Tiago's eyes, however, he straightened his back, carefully removed Bond's trembling leg from his thighs, and stood up shakily. "Oh, yes. _That_ cat. Better go find him, I suppose."

"Yes, you should," Tiago said firmly, making a shooing motion with one hand when Q still didn't move. " _Now_ , if you please."

With one long, lingering look at the still gasping Bond, Q turned and started for the door, but not before Tiago was able to see the quite prominent bulge in the young man's trousers. 

Well, Tiago could hardly blame him. He knew quite well how irresistible Bond was like this, all his barriers obliterated, and the best thing was, Tiago was under no constraints and had no reason whatsoever to resist that delicious vulnerability. 

Bond belonged to him after all.

Once Tiago heard the door open and close, he turned to his little rat, eying him hungrily. After a few moments, he said softly, "So, _pequeño_ , have you recovered enough for another round?"

At Bond's widening eyes, Tiago smiled and said, " _Ahora somos solo nosotros dos." 1_

_As it should be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1"Now it's just the two of us."
> 
> Heh. I always thought that two idiots and their lack of communication skills were awe-inspiring -- what ever is going to happen when there are _three_ idiots with the same handicap?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, bonus short fluff chapter here -- I am attempting to simultaneously motivate and cheer myself up. And Q as well, the poor dear. I think he needs it more than I do, actually.

Q was lying on his couch, attempting to block out as much light as he could with one arm draped over his eyes, when someone knocked on his door.

_Typical. I finally get intimate with someone, in a manner of speaking, and they instantly start treating me like their bloody maiden aunt. He's never bothered to knock before, the arse._

"Oh, do come in, Bond. The door is open, as you well know," he called loudly, then regretted this when his splitting headache informed him that loud noises were a bad thing. 

He winced. A very _bad_ thing, evidently.

"How did you know it was me?" Bond asked as he walked through the door.

"Because Horatio doesn't knock. He just grabs the bottom of the door with one paw and slams it back and forth until I get annoyed enough to let him in."

Q heard Bond approaching the couch, but then he grunted and apparently stumbled slightly. 

"Q," Bond said slowly. "Did you know there's a banana on the floor?"

"Yes, of course," he replied sharply, and much louder than he'd intended. _Oh, God, why does even talking hurt so much?_

"You're supposed to leave the _peel_ on the floor, not the entire fruit, if you'd intended to get me flat on my back."

"For your information, the banana is for the _cat_." Q paused significantly. "Besides, 'been there, done that', as far as _you're_ concerned."

Bond sighed. "I truly am sorry, Q. I had no idea Tiago was going . . ."

"To be such a total prat? Hardly your fault, 007. You were a little tied up at the time." He uncovered his eyes long enough to squint up at Bond. "I must admit though, it was a smashingly good look on you."

The agent appeared rather taken aback, and also somewhat embarrassed if that lovely flush was any indication. 

Then Bond looked more sharply at him. "Are you _drunk_ , Q?" He studied him for a few moments longer, then gestured toward Morcile, who was lying on his back on a nearby chair with all four legs in the air. "Or should I say, are you _both_ drunk? Misery enjoys company and all that rot?" 

"I am _not_ drunk, 007. Not currently, that is. I am merely hung over, which means you'd best not provoke me." He eyed Morcile blearily. "And Morcile isn't drunk either -- that's his standard napping pose."

"'Morsel'?" 

Bond was so cute when he was confused. 

_Gah._ He would never have associated "cute" with Bond before he'd seen him like . . . _that_. So _much_ lovely skin.

God, he really was totally screwed.

"Why do you call him 'Morsel'?" Bond prompted again when he didn't get a reply. "He's not _that_ much smaller than your other cat."

"Not 'Morsel', Bond, ' _Mor-cile_ '. As in a combination of moron and imbecile, which is approximately where he falls on the IQ scale." Q considered that for a few moments, then added, "Although that might be a tad over-generous, come to think of it."

"Aren't you being a little hard on him, Q? He can't possibly be that dim." 

Q sighed. Some people always needed a visual demonstration to comprehend the facts. It was so tedious at times.

"Observe and learn, 007." He clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth, and called, "Morcile!"

The cat in question opened one eye, stretched first his front legs, followed by his back legs, and then after apparently miscalculating his position on the chair, yet again, promptly rolled off it. 

He hit the floor . . . hard. 

Bond jumped a little in surprise. "I thought cats were supposed to land on their feet?"

"If they possess even an ounce of common sense, yes, they do."

Morcile was still lying flat on his back, but he chirped an unconcerned, "Errrr," before rolling over onto his feet, which is precisely the moment he spotted the banana.

His back immediately arched, and he let out a long, sibilant hiss, his tail bottle-brushing impressively.

"Let me guess," Bond said, smiling down at the cat. "He doesn't like bananas."

"Positively terrified of them, actually. It's only when he finds one separated from the rest of the pack that he feels brave enough to attack it."

"You're kidding."

"No, really, I'm not."

Morcile stretched out one paw to its full length, just barely touching the banana, and when it wobbled slightly, he jumped back, hissing again. After a few moments, when the banana didn't immediately launch a counterattack, Morcile approached stealthily from a different direction and then began smacking it with one paw. 

Again and again and again.

"And there you have it, 007. Brainless Kitty versus the East African Scary Banana. My theory is that, eons ago, Scary Bananas and servals were mortal enemies, and Morcile here is merely a throwback to that dark, desperate time."

Feeling braver now that the banana hadn't retaliated, Morcile switched paws and began smacking it with the other one. He hit it a little too hard, however, and the banana rolled over and barely touched his other paw. Morcile squawked, then tore off across the room, but not before he bounced off Bond's leg, nearly knocking him off his feet, and then a table leg in the process.

As for the Scary Banana, it resumed its previous position on the floor, undaunted and undefeated.

Bond was silent for a few moments. "You have very weird cats, Q." He paused, clearly hesitant about something. "Did you ever find the other one, by the way?"

Q put his arm over his eyes again. "Horatio? Yes, I found him. He was in the swimming pool."

" _In_ the swimming pool?"

"Of course," Q replied. "Why do you think I named him 'Horatio'? He's rather fond of water in general and chlorine in particular, so I should have checked there first." He sighed dramatically. "I _definitely_ should have checked there first."

"Q . . ." Bond started.

"Bond, it truly is all right." He rolled his eyes. "Oh, sod it. No, it's not. Whoever said it's perfectly fine to live vicariously has never done so while channeling Tiago bloody Rodriguez." He reached blindly behind him for the bottle of wine he'd opened last night. "Here, have a drink. It makes everything better, or so I'm told." He eyed it suspiciously. "Although I think they might have bloody well lied."

"Where's the other one?" Bond asked.

"The other what?"

"The other bottle, Q. There's only enough wine missing here for one glass. I thought I'd dispose of the empty bottle to save you from tripping over it, given your current delicate condition." 

Q gazed up at him through his spread fingers.

Bond's eyes went wide. "Q! You got drunk from just one glass of wine?"

"Well, I got a hangover from just one glass of wine, so it seems only fair." 

"Q . . . " 

_Oh, dear._ Bond actually had a guilty look on his face. This was such an extreme rarity that Q rose up onto one elbow to stare, heedless of his aching head. "Bond, I don't blame you for what happened. How could I? You are you, and Rodriguez -- well, he'll always be a bit of a smarmy arse."

Bond actually smiled at that, one side of his mouth quirking up.

"So," Q started brightly, or as brightly as he could given his queasy stomach. "I haven't yet started on your 'project,' for the obvious reasons, nor have I decided definitely to even do so," he said, looking at Bond reprovingly. "However, I do have an idea or two. I'll just need to . . ."

Bond suddenly yelped and jumped, glaring down toward the floor.

Q raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me the banana actually _did_ attack you? If so, I'll have to apologize to Morcile, and then I'll _never_ hear the end of it."

Shifting his weight, then returning his gaze to Q, Bond grimaced and said, "No. Tiago evidently wants to see me, so he activated the collar. He does that when I'm not close enough to simply call out for me."

"Huh. No wonder it surprised you then." 

Bond pointed a finger at him. "Just wait. Your next project will be installing a damn intercom system in this place."

Q leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "There you go again, assuming I'm going to survive the _first_ one. If you weren't aware of it, 007, and you did appear rather distracted last night for some reason, I'm fairly certain that Rodriguez suspected _something_ was up between the two of us." He held up a hand when Bond started to speak. "And why do I believe that, you might ask? Because I'm going to take a wild guess here and assume that Rodriguez doesn't _normally_ invite unsuspecting passers-by to join in on the festivities."

"Not usually, no," Bond said rather sheepishly, then he jumped again, swearing.

Q waved him away. "Oh, do go on, 007. We'll talk later."

However, since Q was still feeling rather put upon, he waited until Bond was almost out the door, then added, "Besides, you shouldn't keep your master waiting _too_ long."

Q figured he deserved the pain of his aching head when Bond slammed the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Tiago was preparing to activate the collar for a third time when Bond finally stuck his head around the doorframe.

He motioned the man inside with a beckoning finger. "Took you long enough, James."

Bond looked more than a little irritated. "Perhaps you should consider a trail of breadcrumbs instead of just shocking me. At least the breadcrumbs are directional." He crossed his arms over his chest. "How the bloody hell was I supposed to know where you were?"

Tiago approached him slowly, savouring how the man almost immediately dropped his aggressive stance when Tiago placed a possessive hand around the back of his neck. "But I was becoming ever so worried, dear heart. Where _else_ would I want you to be other than our bedroom, hmm?" He nuzzled his neck, then clasped a cheek with the other hand. "I assumed my location would be fairly obvious, to tell the truth."

Bond hmmphed bad-temperedly, but he didn't evade Tiago's advances. "After the number of encounters we had last night, I figured you'd be sated, temporarily at least."

Tiago laughed aloud. "And you've known me for _how_ long, exactly?"

Bond merely sighed.

"And how is our dearest Q, hmm?" Tiago asked, watching Bond's face carefully.

The man's eyes raised to meet his defiantly. "About what you'd expect, given what you did to him last night," he said with some little heat.

"What _I_ did to him? Dear heart, it wasn't _me_ he was fondling like a fanatical archaeologist with a prized artifact."

Bond merely narrowed his eyes at him. "You know exactly what I mean, Tiago. Forcing him into that position was more than a bit not good." 

Tiago rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue impatiently. " _Dios._ I'm hardly going to make a _habit_ of it, _pequeño_."

"And that's precisely the issue. It wasn't fair to him, and you know it."

Tiago felt his own eyes narrowing. "If you're assuming I did that merely to be cruel, you still don't know me as well as you think you do."

"What do you mean?" Bond snapped back immediately, but at least he seemed willing to listen to Tiago before issuing his final judgment.

"I will _not_ explain to you in detail, as you already know I have a variety of reasons for what I do, regardless of whether they're readily apparent to you." He tsked sharply. "However, one of those reasons was _indeed_ to discover whether your precious quartermaster felt for you what I suspected he did."

"Why? So you could toss him out on the street if he _did_ have inappropriate feelings for me?"

Tiago took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He would not let his temper interfere this time. "No, James. I realized I needed someone to help look after you. Now that I know the degree of affection that young man possesses for you, I am reassured, because I know from personal experience it is an incredibly _strong_ motivator indeed." He gripped Bond's face with both hands now. "I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, dear heart, even if it means I must occasionally allow another man's hands upon you."

Bond lowered his eyes then, suitably abashed, and merely nodded his head in acquiescence.

Of course, there was yet _another_ reason why Tiago was curious about the depth of Q's feelings. He needed to be certain that someone would look after James should Tiago die unexpectedly. He had far more enemies then friends, after all, and he'd always known he wasn't likely to reach old age. 

But _that_ was an explanation James didn't need to hear, and he hoped it wouldn't be relevant for quite some time regardless.

And since Q had indeed respected Tiago's restrictions, even after the intense provocation of having Bond spread before him so wantonly, he was reasonably certain the quartermaster wouldn't overstep his boundaries . . . at least as long as Tiago was still alive. 

But enough of long term plans. It was time to focus on the short term, and making sure that Bond was not prematurely taken from _him_. Tiago might be contemptuous of SPECTRE as a whole, but the stakes were too high to risk underestimating Blofeld now. Whatever personal reasons the man had for demanding possession of Bond, he had to assume he'd be as ruthless in accomplishing his goal as Tiago had been himself. 

If _anyone_ knew how motivating an obsession could be, it was the man who had once been Raoul Silva.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Tiago said, "Come, James. I have something to show you." He started to lead him out of the bedroom, but Bond inexplicably pulled back slightly.

At Bond's perplexed -- and possibly disappointed? -- look, Tiago laughed. He patted James on the hand. "We can always come back here afterwards if you'd like," he said, batting his eyes at him coquettishly.

"You're impossible," James said, knowing he'd been caught and lowering his eyes again. He tugged at Tiago's hand. "Not everything is about sex."

Tiago laughed again. "Only the best things, _pequeño_ , only the best things."

***********************************

Tiago left the lights off as they entered his control room. The table in the center of the small room held a three-dimensional scale representation of the island and its immediate environs, backlit for clarification purposes, and this back lighting gave off more than enough illumination to navigate inside the room without requiring the overhead lights.

Besides, it was more impressive this way.

Bond didn't need prompting. He immediately moved to the table and leaned over it, scanning the model and its various colour-coded icons. 

He didn't even look up when Tiago embraced him possessively from behind, but Tiago didn't mind all that much. He just couldn't seem to keep his hands off the man for long.

Now fully in mission mode, however, Bond ignored the hands wrapped around his waist and indicated the red icons scattered around the periphery of the island. "Gun emplacements?" he asked with relative assurance. 

Tiago sighed. Business first, evidently, but since this _was_ rather important, he reluctantly released Bond and stood next to him. Okay, very _closely_ next to him, but he'd take whatever contact he could get. 

"Yes, those are surface to air missile launchers, and these," he said, indicating the yellow icons on the headland located both north and south of the compound, "are radar installations." He then swept his hand over to two more yellow icons, one located in the harbour in front of the compound and one just beyond the barrier reef on the opposite side. "These are sonar units, currently installed in submarine drones."

"And these?" Bond asked, indicating the myriad of additional red icons located just offshore, surrounding the island like a massive, honeycombed net.

"Proximity mines," Tiago said succinctly. "Oh, don't fret, James, they're currently inert, and can only be activated electronically from this room. I'm not likely to bother dispatching some nosy sailboat crew to the bottom of the sea and waste a perfectly good mine in the process. They're exceedingly expensive, you know."

"Very thrifty of you."

"I thought so. Waste not, want not."

Bond looked up at him. "Unless you've got men stationed somewhere else on this island I don't know about, you don't have enough personnel to crew these installations 24 hours a day, or even operate them all on a contingency basis, given the sheer number of units displayed here."

Tiago smiled. Always observant, his little rat. "They can all be operated manually, of course, but they're _designed_ to be remotely controlled, guided by the radar and sonar installations via computers in this facility as well as a smaller back-up unit located in my personal computer room." 

Bond studied him carefully. "You brought me here to look for potential weaknesses," he said confidently. "You're curious what _I_ would do if I intended to destroy or infiltrate this compound." It wasn't a question, but Tiago knew the agent was exceptionally bright. His laid-back manner tended to make others underestimate that intelligence, but Tiago knew better.

"Uh-huh. You know what they say about proofreading your own work." He leaned back against the tabletop, crossing his arms expectantly.

Bond glanced back down at the model. "The obvious strategy, of course, would be to disrupt the main power source. If you're relying almost solely on computer control, that would be nearly catastrophic."

" _Si_ , it would be, if the power source was that easy to disrupt." Tiago turned and indicated the mock-up. "The power lines feeding into the compound here are underground, of course, and exceedingly difficult to access."

Bond shook his head. "I wouldn't target _them_ , regardless. It would be easier to disrupt the power _before_ it enters the perimeter of your weapons installations." He glanced over at Tiago. "I'm assuming you're not generating the power here on the island, that is?"

"Possible, but not practical," Tiago said. "Not with the amount of energy consumed by the facilities located in the compound. I have a couple of relatively small generators for emergency power as well as some solar power panels available for the computers and communications network, but they would not last indefinitely." 

He pointed back toward the map of the harbour. "It's not indicated on this map, but the submarine power cable enters here. It follows the headland along the east side of the harbour, and then enters the Atacama Trench here just offshore of the island." He looked up at Bond. "This trench reaches a maximum depth of 8000 meters, although it's only about half that depth in this particular location."

Bond whistled. "You're running a power cable that deep? No wonder you're not worried about disruption on this end."

Tiago nodded. "Precisely. In addition, our current abode is part of an island arc that extends along the juncture of two tectonic plates. As a result, it's rather seismically active, and the cable's been at least partially buried in a past earthquake." He smiled at Bond. "I'm not actually concerned about its disruption from a human source, especially not from conventional weapons."

Bond considered that, his brow furrowing. "But what about the actual power _source_? The power has to be generated somewhere on the mainland of Peru."

"Yes, but it's not derived from a single source. I have submarine power cables originating from at least six different locations that do not merge until they reach the Atacama Trench itself. It would be nearly impossible to disrupt all the source feeds simultaneously." He winked. "You know how meticulous I am -- they are rather widely spaced on the mainland, as well as camouflaged to some extent."

Bond stared at him intently. "That sort of large scale engineering must have cost millions of pounds."

Tiago smiled lazily. "I did tell you I was a man of some means, did I not?"

Bond shook his head fondly, not rising to the bait. "The power infrastructure must have been here for some time obviously, but _these_ ," he said, indicating the weapons installations, "are relatively new, aren't they?"

Sighing, Tiago said, "You are indeed correct, dear heart. I did have _some_ defensive capability of course, but nothing nearly this extensive. May I ask how you arrived at that conclusion? You've refused to take me up on my offer to tour the island completely before."

Hesitating slightly, Bond said, "I didn't know for certain, but it's only been the past few months where you've seemed . . . more paranoid than usual." He looked at Tiago askance, undoubtedly concerned he would take offense.

Tiago merely laughed, however. "Perhaps you _do_ know me better than I'd assumed." He didn't otherwise confirm Bond's suspicions, knowing this would engender a conversation he didn't wish to have. He indicated the model again, attempting to distract him. "Were there any other weaknesses that come immediately to mind?" 

"Not at the moment, but I'd like to examine the installations in person, if you don't mind."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," Tiago said airily, taking Bond's elbow. "As I've told you before, you have free run of the island."

"As long as I remain _on_ the bloody island," Bond said, bitterly. 

Tiago looked at him disapprovingly. "We discussed this previously, James. Now is not the time to be gallivanting about unchaperoned."

"I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

Tiago swung Bond around, trapping him against the table and leaning over him. "Again with this. If it happened once, it could happen again. We both know you _can_ be vulnerable, and not just from those _shadows_ that M always prattled on about, don't we, my dear?" 

Inexplicably, Bond's eyes went very wide at that, and Tiago pulled back slightly, puzzled. 

_Por Dios._ He'd triggered something, again, just when he'd thought he'd uncovered _all_ this man's past insecurities. 

Before he could question him further, however, Bond shook his head slightly, then pushed against Tiago, albeit without much force, clearly requesting to be released rather than demanding it.

Since Bond had "asked" him nicely, Tiago acquiesced, giving Bond some space but not relinquishing his hold on him entirely. He didn't think he was capable of that at the moment.

Bond tugged on his arm, clearly ready to leave the room and Tiago's inevitable questions behind him. He looked up at Tiago through his eyelashes. "You mentioned something about having other plans for me?" he prompted coyly.

Tiago considered pushing the matter, but he knew Bond would only clamp down tighter on his emotions if he did. Besides, as an attempted distraction, that particular offer was an extremely tempting one. He sighed, then headed for the door, keeping a grip on Bond's arm as they walked down the corridor.

However, just as they passed Q's suite of rooms, Bond stopped abruptly. "Wait a minute. You installed those extra weapons to protect _me_ , didn't you?" His voice held a slight trace of astonishment.

Tiago merely raised an eyebrow at him, smiling gently. "After all this time, you're still surprised to discover you're the most precious thing in the world to me?"

"But why _now_ , when we've been here for months . . . ?" He looked up suddenly, his eyes intent. "This is about Sciarra, isn't it?"

Tiago pursed his lips, since that particular name consistently brought a bad taste to his mouth. "He is not the cause, merely a symptom."

Bond pressed further. "You promised to tell me about him."

 _Madre de Dios_ , he had, hadn't he? How terribly inconvenient. But he also knew that when Bond felt emotionally compromised, he would instinctively turn to work to distract himself. Tiago had the same inclination himself. 

He sighed. No hope for it then.

"Marco Sciarra is merely a semi-talented amateur -- a terrorist and bomber, who has until recently wreaked havoc for whomever was the highest bidder."

"Until recently?" Bond prompted.

Tiago grit his teeth. "His current employer and I have crossed swords before, when he foolishly attempted to wrest control of my own organisation." He waved a hand in dismissal. "His name is not important. He will be dealt with before you set foot off this island again." 

He resumed walking toward their rooms, but Bond grasped his forearm. "So he _is_ the reason you've turned this island into a fortress."

Tiago was silent for a few moments, gazing straight ahead at nothing, before he turned back to Bond. "Regardless, James, it isn't something you need concern yourself with. I will handle it."

Lifting his chin, Bond said, "We've been down this road before, Tiago. If you truly did love me, you'd trust me with everything, not just what you _think_ I should know." Bond eyed him belligerently. "Or is that still subject to change without notice?"

Tiago gripped the man's upper arms impatiently. "James, my love for you is as solid as the ground beneath our feet. Nothing, _nothing_ will ever change that." He shook the man slightly. "As I keep saying, you need only _trust_ me now and again, _por favor_."

Before Bond could respond, Q's obnoxious cats began howling, audible even through the closed door of Q's suite, and Tiago turned angrily toward the disturbance. "What is wrong with those infernal creatures now?" he spat, thoroughly irritated.

He soon discovered he had far more pressing concerns, however.

Tiago first noticed the overhead light fixtures as they began to sway, and he knew immediately what was happening. Bond evidently did also, as he went down to one knee before he could potentially be thrown off his feet. The floor of the corridor trembled beneath their feet, and Tiago crouched over him, instinctively, even though he knew he'd built this installation to survive earthquakes of quite a significant size. 

Luckily, this one appeared to be a minor quake, lasting only a mere fifteen seconds or so, but it was still strong enough that the undulating light fixtures cast eerie shadows across their hunched figures as they crouched on the floor.

Once the shaking was over, Tiago grabbed Bond's elbow and lifted him to his feet. "Come, James, it doesn't appear to have been a bad one, but I should still check the computers for damage." 

Bond merely nodded, eyeing the walls of the corridor dubiously as they passed.

Tiago noticed the focus of his attention. "It's one of the drawbacks of building mostly underground, I'm afraid. I have, of course, isolated the internal structure from the surrounding rock in much the same way as a skyscraper is constructed aboveground, but it still means there is more substrata for the earthquake waves to travel through. Hence, we tend to notice even the smallest quakes." He glanced over at Bond. "It does keep things interesting."

Bond shook his head. "Only you would build your headquarters over an active fault line, just because it was 'interesting.'"

The adrenaline had put a manic smile on Tiago's face. "Don't forget 'exciting', my dear. You know how I positively abhor complacency."

***********************************

Bond didn't show up in Q's quarters for a few days after _that_ night. He assumed this was the man's method of giving him space, but now that Q had finally made up his mind to help Bond with his hare-brained scheme, he wanted to get on with it before he changed his mind. Again.

Besides, he had come up with an even more hare-brained scheme of his own. If he waited too long for a chance to implement it, however, he was going to lose his nerve. He sure as _hell_ wasn't going to venture into Bond's rooms and risk running into Rodriguez. He'd spent the last few days cautiously peering around corners before entering the common rooms as it was.

But Bond did eventually come by, knocking on his door _again_ , the prat. Q was working on his laptop at the time, attempting to miniaturize the circuitry he'd need to finish Bond's project. 

However, Q decided he mustn't seem too eager to acquiesce, because he really, _really_ wasn't. "May I help you with something, 007?" he said after Bond had plopped himself down in a chair.

In spite of his previous resolution, Q had to force himself not to stare. The man was wearing a polo shirt and shorts with no socks, had apparently been spending a great deal of time out of doors, and he was therefore quite fetchingly tanned. For some reason, however, Q's eyes tended to consistently drift toward that wretched collar.

"Only the usual," Bond said, crossing his legs. "So, how did you and the cats weather the earthquake?" he asked conversationally.

He noticed that Bond was keeping his hand off the collar this time, likely intentionally. _Interesting._ "What earthquake?" he asked, thoroughly distracted.

Bond rolled his eyes. "The earthquake that occurred while you were still 'not drunk.'" He looked around at the myriad of knick-knacks lining Q's shelves. "Didn't you wonder why everything you owned wound up on the floor?"

"Not particularly. I just assumed it was the cats being rambunctious again." He paused at Bond's disbelievingly raised eyebrow. "What? They do get bored easily, you know. There's only so much you can do with a banana."

Bond snorted at that, and Q said sharply, "Oh, do get your mind out of the gutter, 007. I was referring to keeping the cats entertained." He paused for a moment. "I imagine it's just about as difficult as keeping a field agent amused, at least judging by how anxious you are to get off this island and get us both killed."

Sighing, Bond said, "Q, if you're really so opposed to helping me, I'll leave you alone, but there is something you need to hear before you make up your mind."

Of course, Q had already decided to assist, but there was no sense in making it easy for this impossible man. Q was _still_ a little miffed at being cavalierly tossed into the ocean like yesterday's rubbish.

He looked up at Bond. "All right then, go ahead. I'm listening."

Bond leaned forward in the chair. "Tiago finally told me something about this man Sciarra. He's a low profile terrorist -- a bomber for hire." He shook his head slightly. "He's apparently working for someone whom Tiago, or rather Raoul Silva, tangled with in the past, but he won't give me the man's name or the organisation he controls."

Something Bond just said stirred a nagging association for Q, but he decided to ponder that later. "Do you want me to try to dig further?"

Bond considered this, and then said, "Only an attempt to locate Sciarra and track his movements. If I know Tiago, he's probably tracking the man himself, and he wouldn't respond well if he discovered you researching this mysterious organisation he's so determined to avoid clueing me in about."

Q blinked a few times. "Hmm. Assuming this Sciarra doesn't travel under a plethora of assumed names, or in private aircraft, I can probably do that without triggering any keyword searches that Rodriguez has set up." 

"Good, thank you, Q." 

Bond didn't appear anxious to leave, and obviously Q wasn't keen on that idea either. "Would you like some tea?" he asked politely.

"Yes, actually I would."

Q looked up at him in surprise. "Really? Well, it's in the kitchen. Would you mind very much fetching it please?" He indicated the laptop. "I need to finish up a few things here."

Bond shook his head, but levered himself out of the chair, heading for the kitchen. "Would you like me to fetch you anything else while I'm up -- some biscuits, perhaps?"

"If I currently possessed any, then yes. But alas, your partner-in-crime hoarded the entire shipment himself last month." Q shook his head. "Actually, I'm surprised the man hasn't gained a stone or two since then."

Bond said, "He works it off. Sometimes several times a day."

"That is information I did not need to know, 007."

"Well then, you shouldn't have asked." There was a distinct pause. "Q, did your document shredder suffer some sort of epic malfunction after the earthquake?"

Q rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. The kitchen roll again?"

"Or what's left of it. Maybe two or three of them, but it's hard to tell. The floor is covered in it."

"Bond, it's fine. I told you the cats were bored. Just try to avoid stepping on Horatio as you wade in toward the teapot, and for heaven's sake, please don't drop it and start a fire. Rodriguez would shoot me . . . literally."

"One of your _cats_ did this?" Bond said disbelievingly. "Q, I can't even see the bloody floor!" 

"All the more reason to be _careful_ and not step on him. You'd never believe how much money I'd saved MI6 in document shredding costs alone with that cat."

"All right, but how do you know he's even . . . ?"

Suddenly, a loud, enraged hiss emanated from the direction of the kitchen, shortly followed by the sound of something hitting the floor and a startled, "Jesus fucking Christ!" from Bond. 

Horatio dashed across the room in full miniature cheetah mode, stopped long enough to viciously shred part of the couch Q was sitting on in retaliation, and then dove for the bedroom with his tail flourished high in the air like a victorious banner. 

Mission evidently accomplished, at least as far as the cat was concerned. Q, however, was quite certain he wouldn't get his tea after all.

Q sighed. "I _told_ you to be careful, Bond. You're just encouraging him."

Bond appeared in front of the couch, his hair charmingly spiked where he'd evidently run his hand through it. Several times. "Encouraging him? Bloody hell, Q, if I'd had a gun, I could have accidentally shot the little bugger!"

"Hmm. Rodriguez gave me your last range scores, so I think Horatio would have been safe, but it's probably best you didn't have one." He looked up at Bond, raising an eyebrow in enquiry. "So, no tea?"

Bond merely glared down at him.

Sighing, Q put his laptop aside, closing the lid to keep its contents private for now. He steepled his fingers together, attempting to gather his nerve, then looked up at Bond. "I've already begun work on your little project, 007," he finally admitted, nodding toward the laptop.

Bond relaxed visibly at that, and his expression was as grateful as Q had ever seen it. "Thank you, Q," he said simply. "I'll make sure you don't regret it."

"It'll certainly be interesting to watch you try," Q replied. He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I'll need to examine your collar again, just to rule out a few things." He watched Bond's face closely.

The man was obviously uncomfortable with the idea, but Q was expecting that. However, Q had a theory, and he was quite anxious to either prove or disprove it. He was quite literally risking everything for this little endeavour of Bond's, and it would be nice to know if it was all worth it in the end.

Bond took a deep breath, then nodded, backing up slightly from the couch to give Q room.

Q rose from the couch, then slowly knelt by Bond's feet. He could almost sense Bond bracing himself as he reached for the collar, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead and his hands held rigidly by his sides.

Bond actually shivered when Q grasped the collar, turning it slowly as he examined the quite meticulous weld that held it in place. Or more correctly, as he _appeared_ to examine the weld. Q was, of course, cataloguing Bond's reactions to his touch, and when he brazenly stroked the skin beneath the collar, he got at least some of his answers.

Bond gasped and tried to jerk his foot away, but Q didn't allow the evasion. He merely held on to Bond's ankle tightly, looking up at him disapprovingly, and he was gratified by the wide-eyed look of surprise that materialized on Bond's face. Q then grasped the back of his knee, opening his palm slowly to completely cover the bare skin there, and Bond once again jerked.

"Q?" he asked, with an endearingly confused look on his face.

Sliding his hand partway up Bond's thigh, Q stopped before he reached truly dangerous territory, but Bond's breathing had still correspondingly increased, and it was quite apparent the effect Q was causing, even without the evidence of the increasing bulge in the man's shorts.

Satisfied that he'd confirmed his theory, Q released Bond's collar and leg, standing to face him. 

Bond actually took a step back from him. "I thought you needed to examine the bloody _collar_ , Q?"

Q nodded. "I did. I also told you I needed to rule out a few things."

"Such as?"

"Such as whether you'd respond to _me_ without Rodriguez in attendance."

Bond whirled around, at least partially to hide his incipient erection, Q assumed. "Damn it, Q," he said finally. "You know that was a supremely bad idea."

"Really? It's a bad idea to know whether the man I'm risking my life for has any interest in me whatsoever?"

Bond turned his head. "What do you want me to say, Q? I'm completely committed to Tiago, but I'm not bloody well _dead_."

"So, if _anyone_ had touched your collar like that, you'd respond in the same manner?"

Bond shuddered violently. " _Fuck_ , no," he said vehemently. "You know that's not true."

"I _assumed_ it wasn't true, but some things do require empirical evidence." He shook his head. "Bond, I'm hardly going to make a habit of molesting you, nor do I intend to come between the two of you. I know better than to provoke Rodriguez, because I most certainly don't have a death wish, unlike some people I know. But I damn well don't appreciate being _used_ either." He held up a hand to forestall Bond's next words and took a deep breath. "Not unless I know that I truly mean something to the user." 

Bond took a step forward, but then stopped, as if he needed permission to approach closer. And given what conditioning this man had been through, perhaps he did.

"I _do_ care, Q." Bond looked at him intently. "Never doubt that."

Q approached him slowly, giving him time to object, but the man didn't even flinch when Q clasped his neck, pulled his head down slightly, and kissed him very quickly on the forehead. He released him immediately, stepping away from temptation. "I believe that should suffice, 007," he said, turning and reaching for his laptop. "I should have something for you in a few days. You can check back with me then."

Bond paused appreciably, but then merely said, "All right, Q," and headed for the door.

"And Bond?"

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"

"For both our sakes, you might want to find a cold shower _before_ you find Rodriguez."

Bond sighed, but he nodded and closed the door silently behind him.

Q held his hands to his head. "God. Why don't I start juggling bombs for a living? It would probably be a less dangerous occupation."

Some synapse fired haphazardly in his brain, and Q's head jerked up, as he finally made that connection he'd missed from Bond's earlier comment. "Oh, fuck," he said aloud. 

It could be a coincidence. Hell, it probably _was_ a coincidence, but it was also remotely possible there was yet another reason to move along with Bond's project.

Double fuck. And he probably _should_ have passed that flash traffic on to Rodriguez earlier.

Q was beginning to wonder if he didn't have a death wish after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens . . .
> 
> I wanted to thank those readers who have left kudos, and especially those who have left such lovely comments. It's become obvious that this 'ship is on the decline (either that or my writing has, lol!), so it's even more gratifying to hear from those die-hard 00Silva enthusiasts who are still out there. _Thank you!_


	6. Chapter 6

_At last._

It had taken him a hellishly long time, but after working nearly eighteen hours a day for five days straight, Q returned from the machine shop with his _hopefully_ working prototype. He'd tested it in a shielded room, of course, but without access to Bond's collar, he could only speculate about its practical range. This type of device had never been miniaturized to this extent before, at least to Q's knowledge. 

He was lucky that Rodriguez had available such an extensive range of machining tools, dies, raw materials, and even a clean room with an IC manufacturing machine. Well, maybe "lucky" wasn't the precise word given the possible consequences, but Q was proud of the accomplishment regardless. It wasn't elegant, and it might not be an exploding pen, but he assumed Bond would be pleased with it, just the same.

Walking by his computer monitor, he noticed that his passive "Find Sciarra" program had finally come back with a response. Clicking on the results, his eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. He sat down, staring at the monitor pensively. "Well, that's a tad unexpected. Or is it?" 

Humming softly under his breath, he accessed the Internet, then ran a search for the time frame indicated by his findings, cross-referenced it to local events, then sat back in his chair slowly. "Oh, bugger. So, it might not be a coincidence, after all. How utterly vexing." 

_Damn, but I hate when Bond is right._

There was a knock on his door, but Q was so focused on his research that it took a muffled, "Q, are you in there?" before Q roused himself from his reverie to answer.

"Come in, Bond," he called. "I'm in the computer room."

When Bond entered the room, Q decided he shouldn't waste time, given the nature of his findings. "Bond, take a look at this."

"What is it?" Bond asked curiously, peering over his shoulder, but Q noticed that he was carefully keeping a respectful distance this time.

_Well, congratulations, Q. You've managed to instill a genuine neurosis into a double-oh agent. M would be so thrilled._

Sighing, Q looked up at Bond and said, "It occurred to me that if our friend Sciarra was a known terrorist, he'd be on the Interpol interdict list for airline travel, so I did an additional search for tickets purchased from Italy to South America under other names."

"You think M was _expecting_ him to turn up in our little corner of the world?"

Q nodded. "Seems logical, doesn't it? She's never been one to make idle conversation without a reason. Regardless, even limiting the purchase point to Italy, it was a rather long list, so I ran an algorithm for likely aliases." He pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Well, aliases that I'd use if I were an absolute idiot, that is." He highlighted one of the names his search had returned.

"Mark Quarrel?" Bond read over his shoulder.

"The 'Mark' was obvious of course, but since 'Sciarra' means 'quarrel' in Italian, I took a wild chance and included that surname in the algorithm."

"You're right," Bond agreed. "If that's actually him, he really is an idiot."

"Or merely _arrogant_ , Bond. That personality trait isn't limited to field agents, you know."

Bond smiled down at him, seeming to relax a little at last. "Why, thank you, Q."

"You're welcome, but I'm afraid we might have another little problem."

"Go on."

Q pulled up the remainder of his findings. "Given what you've told me of his profession, I ran a search to see if there were any significant events planned here in Lima during the time frame of his airline ticket purchase. And this is the first thing to come up." He glanced at Bond to gauge his reaction. "I believe this increases the likelihood it's Sciarra, especially since I can't find any verifiable evidence that this Mark Quarrel person actually exists."

Bond read over his shoulder. "The _'Señor de los Milagros'_ festival. The 'Lord of Miracles'?" he translated. 

"Yes," Q responded. "It's evidently one of the most important religious festivals in Peru, and it's typically attended by thousands."

"You're afraid that might be his target?" Bond scanned the details of the festival. "It seems to be spread over a wide area in Lima, Q," he said. "That would cut down substantially on the effectiveness of any one bomb."

Q cleared his thought nervously. "Well, I came across an interesting tidbit when I was pulling flash traffic for Rodriguez. I didn't think much of it at the time, but given recent events . . . ?"

"Just show me, Q. I'm not a firm believer in coincidences."

"I had a nasty feeling you'd say that." He pulled up a copy of the flash traffic, then sat back so Bond could read it.

Bond drew in a sharp breath. "Holy fucking hell. How did the Americans manage to 'misplace' a nuclear bomb?"

"Well, it's not a 'bomb' precisely. It's a warhead prototype that never went into actual production. I've done some research, but it was relatively low yield and was never formally tested. It's probably been sitting around some secure warehouse for years, and it says here they're not exactly certain when it disappeared."

Bond looked at him disbelief. "'Relatively low yield' doesn't mean jack shit when it comes to nuclear weapons, Q, and I have a feeling they know _precisely_ when it disappeared. They just don't want to admit it. I know _I_ bloody well wouldn't." He shook his head. "M's probably having kittens about this."

"Oh, good, I've always wondered if she might want two more." At Bond's glare, Q said, "Sorry, 007, just trying to defuse the tension."

"It's more likely we'll be forced to defuse something else." He looked down at Q sharply, thoroughly in field agent mode now. "Have you had any luck with circumventing the collar?"

Q nodded firmly. "As a matter of fact, I have. Could you step back a moment?"

Getting up from the chair, Q grabbed a frequency meter and his laptop from a nearby shelf, then knelt at Bond's feet.

"Q?" Bond asked nervously, taking a half-step back.

Turning on the meter and scanning the collar, Q said, "It's all right, Bond. I don't need to actually touch the collar -- I just need to double-check the frequency of its GPS signal." He glanced up at him sharply. "I did promise you I'd behave, didn't I?"

"You've managed to surprise me before," he said tentatively.

"Well, I'll try to keep the surprises to a minimum then, shall I?" He opened the laptop, then entered the sequence to activate his device in test mode. Pulling the device out of his pocket and holding it up in his closed fist at the level of Bond's waist, he checked the frequency meter again, then said, "Yes!" triumphantly. According to the meter, it was working precisely as he'd hoped.

He terminated the test sequence from his laptop, then opened his hand, presenting the device to Bond while still kneeling at his feet. "Here you are. Don't say I've never given you anything," he said proudly.

At first, Q couldn't figure out why Bond had a look of such absolute horror on his face, staring first at him and then at the ring he was holding, before he finally put two and two together. 

"Oh, for heaven's sake, 007, I'm not bloody well _proposing_ to you." He sat back on his heels and rolled his eyes. "This ring is a GPS jamming device. It overrides the signal from your collar and reports a false location to anyone trying to lock onto it."

Bond expelled the breath he'd apparently been holding. "Jesus Christ, Q. Will you please stop doing things like that to me?" He eyed the door nervously. "If Tiago had happened to walk in on that scene, he'd have eviscerated us both."

"Oh do calm down, 007. He'd have to get past Horatio first," Q said hotly. He rose to his feet and lifted his chin to meet Bond's eyes. "Did you want me to find a way to circumvent the bloody collar or not?"

"Of course I did." Bond stared at the ring Q was holding if it would bite him. "But just in case it's escaped your notice, Q, I don't wear jewelry. Don't you think Tiago will be a little suspicious if I suddenly start wearing a ring?"

Q smiled at him sweetly. "Not if you give him this," he said, holding out the twin of the ring he held in his other hand. Well, almost twin -- this one didn't contain the additional added circuitry embedded in Bond's, of course.

Bond looked at him aghast. "But then I'd have to . . ."

"Propose to him?" Q finished impatiently. "Yes, that would be the logical sequence of events, wouldn't it?"

To Q's utter amazement, Bond sat down heavily on the floor, a thoroughly pole-axed look on his face, and Q felt mildly guilty for apparently shocking the typically unflappable agent so badly. He had certainly never expected, nor desired, this sort of extreme reaction. 

He sat down cross-legged next to him. "Bond, I apologize, but I thought this was a direction you wouldn't _mind_ going, given how you two obviously feel for each other." 

Bond looked over at him. "I'd never even considered it, Q. Not once. This is something _permanent,_ " he said, indicating the ring, "and permanence and I have never worked out well in the past." He shook his head violently. " _Especially_ when it involves a ring, considering how I lost . . ." He cut himself off abruptly, one hand squeezing into a fist, while the other almost automatically reached for his collar. After a few moments, Bond said, "I'll have to think about this, Q," and rose to his feet. 

Q also got hurriedly to his feet. "I could probably come up with something else, Bond, but it would take time . . . "

"And time is something we don't have, yes, I know," Bond acknowledged. He looked down again at the ring in Q's hand. "Will Tiago pick up anything from the ring electronically?" he asked.

Q shook his head. "Not before it's activated. It's programmed to stay dormant until it reaches an altitude of 500 feet. Unless you're planning to swim to Lima, it should activate automatically once you leave the island. That is, I'm assuming you intend to appropriate the helicopter somehow?"

"There's no other way off this bloody rock. The supply ship is too sporadic, and too slow." 

Considering that further, Q said, "What if I keep the ring here until you're ready to leave, or you could perhaps stash it somewhere?"

Bond just shook his head. "I don't have any set plans for acquiring the helicopter, especially since its permanent base is on the mainland. You know I think best on my feet. If I have to move fast, I must have the ring with me."

"You could keep it in a pocket?" Q suggested doubtfully.

Bond just looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Right," Q said, "I keep forgetting how handsy that man is." He took a deep breath. "I really wish I could _forget_ how handsy that man is."

"Just hold onto the rings for now, Q, and I'll get back to you." He turned abruptly to leave, but he apparently must have noticed the stricken look on Q's face, because he turned around and made an aborted motion to approach him.

Sighing, Q said, "I won't bite, 007." He held out his arms invitingly.

Bond closed the distance between them, hugging him tightly, then Bond kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Thank you, Q. I do appreciate your hard work, regardless of how it may appear sometimes." Releasing Q, he turned and left the suite without a backward glance.

"Well, bugger and blast," Q said aloud to Horatio when he sauntered in begging for a snack. "That didn't go as well as I'd hoped."

The big cat reared up on his hind legs to give him an encouraging head butt, and Q said, "I should probably just leave the strategic planning to you, shouldn't I, Horatio?" He sighed. "God knows you've got a better track record than me."

**********************************

Tiago wrapped his arms more securely around Bond and sighed contentedly. "So, James, was there any particular reason you wished to spend time with me beneath the stars, or were you just feeling hopelessly romantic?"

For some reason, Bond stiffened slightly at that comment but then almost immediately relaxed, so Tiago decided there was no real significance behind it. Bond was likely reacting in his usual manner to any suggestion of romance, bless his English heart.

Besides, it was a truly lovely night. A light breeze carried the perfume of blooming flowers in its wake, and with no moon, the heavens were putting on quite the impressive light show. Hmm. Even if this wasn't Bond's original intention, it _was_ indeed an exquisitely romantic evening. 

What could he say? He was Spanish, and he possessed the Spanish soul. And here, in the company of such an absolutely stunning man, Tiago allowed this romantic soul to soar. On a night as ethereal as this, he could easily imagine their relationship would last until the very stars themselves dimmed.

After a few minutes, however, Bond stirred restlessly in his arms, being his typical fidgety self. The man simply could not sit still for long. Admittedly, this habit had become much worse over the last few months, and Tiago knew it was partly due to his own overprotective behaviour, but still, he wished Bond could be more content with his _current_ situation. 

Tiago certainly was.

"You never answered my question, dear heart," he said, nibbling on an earlobe.

Bond allowed him access for a few moments, then let his head fall back onto Tiago's shoulder. He peered up at him in the near darkness. "Perhaps I'm still a little uncomfortable being below ground, now that I know exactly _what_ you've built your headquarters over."

"Pfft," Tiago said. "I told you, the compound is designed to survive an earthquake up to 8 on the Richter scale. I may enjoy living dangerously, but I am not a fool."

"I'll take your word for that," Bond said, but Tiago could hear the underlying affection underneath his words. 

Such a long way they had come since their initial meeting, what seemed a lifetime ago.

Having a sudden inspiration, Tiago patted him on the cheek. "Tell you what, _pequeño_ , when things have quieted down, I'll take you to Lima to make an offering at the Sanctuary of _Las Nazarenas_. There is a painting of Christ residing there, _Señor de los Milagros_ , that was painted by an African slave in the 17th century. A massive earthquake leveled most of Lima in 1655, but the adobe building housing this painting miraculously survived. The painting has likewise survived every major earthquake since, completely intact and undamaged." He peered up at the heavens. "There is a major religious festival every year honouring this painting, and given its history, I'm certain an offering would assuage at least some of your concerns regarding potential earthquakes."

He looked down at Bond, who surprisingly enough, was listening quite intently indeed.

"I never took you for the religious sort, Tiago."

"And you would be correct, dear heart. I may not believe wholeheartedly in religion, but I _do_ believe in miracles." He smiled down at him. "If a simple offering would encourage yet another miracle, I will gladly do so. With you, I need all the help I can get."

"You always say the sweetest things."

Tiago laughed, resting a hand over Bond's heart. "That is ever my goal, _mi corazón_." He winked at him. "Besides, purple is routinely worn by the faithful during that festival, and you know that purple is a _very_ good colour on me."

Bond rolled his eyes at him. "And modest, too. How _could_ I be so lucky to meet someone like you?"

"Tsk. Sarcasm does not become you, James. As I've said before, I do not believe in luck, but miracles -- _si_ , miracles are not to be discounted so easily." He hummed contentedly, resting his chin on Bond's hair. "And speaking of miracles, I could leave yet _another_ offering, and perhaps someday you will actually permit what _I_ have desired most for so long, hmm?"

"And that is?" Bond asked, sounding slightly confused.

"Why, to carry you over the threshold, of course."

Bond stiffened in his arms yet again, but the thoughtful look in the man's eyes did not contain the instant, abject rejection such a comment had always engendered in the past. 

Tiago sighed. Alas, it was most likely an illusion caused by the subdued lighting. He should not allow himself such foolish fantasies.

But astonishingly, this night was to prove magical indeed.

"Perhaps," Bond said very slowly, as he gazed solemnly into his eyes. "Someday."

Tiago was positively shocked. 

_Dios._ Obviously, he should have put his faith in miracles long before now.

********************************

Q heard the rhythmic splashes as he walked onto the pool deck. "You wanted to see me, Bond?" 

He already knew Bond preferred to swim at night, but since none of the outdoor lights were on, he apparently preferred to swim in the dark as well. The pool had its own interior lighting, of course, but still, Q had to be careful he didn't end up in the pool with Bond. 

Unlike his cats, he wasn't overly fond of water.

Bond didn't reply, but he did turn toward the spot Q was standing. "Well, for one thing," he said, as he grabbed hold of the edge of the pool, "you can collect your irritating cat."

Now that he was looking for him, Q could easily spot the smaller figure swimming in Bond's wake.

"He keeps following me around the pool," Bond said. "I think he's trying to give me his cat toy."

"Actually, I don't think that's a cat toy." Q squinted in the poor lighting. "Looks more like a rat to me."

"What?" Bond said, startled, swiveling to look behind him. "A _rat_ rat?"

"You must have been an absolute riot in science class at Uni." Q paused. "Yes, Bond, a _rat_ rat." He watched as Horatio came abreast of Bond, paddling patiently and offering the rather large, rather bedraggled rat for his consideration. "I told you he likes you. You should be honoured -- he's trying to give you a present."

Bond simply stared at the cat and his mouthful of dark, wet fur. "Tell him, no thanks, please. I've eaten recently."

"Really, Bond. You have no sense of adventure whatsoever. C'mere, Horatio," he called, snapping his fingers. "The big, ungrateful lummox doesn't want your thoughtful gift, after all." 

As the cat climbed out of the pool and went somewhere quiet to consume the prey himself, Q said, "I wonder if Rodriguez knows he's got a rat infestation on his island?"

"I haven't seen any barrels, so my guess would be no," Bond said wryly.

"What?"

Bond waved him off, climbing out of the pool himself. "Never mind, it's a long story. A _very_ long story." He considered that briefly as he reached for a towel, then said, "I'm sure Tiago would be happy to tell you about it though, if you ask."

"That's all right. I think I'll pass."

"Excellent choice."

Q sat down on one of the lounge chairs while Bond finished drying off. 

With his back to him, Bond bent over to pick something up from the deck, but unfortunately, he straightened almost immediately and pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. 

Q sighed. Well, it had been a wonderful view while it lasted, even in the low light. Q had always known he'd have to take what he could get.

Bond turned around, caught the direction of his gaze and said accusingly, "Q."

"What?" Q said indignantly. "You do realize those swim trunks are illegal in several third world countries?" He paused. "And if they aren't already illegal in this one, they certainly ought to be."

Bond merely looked at him reproachfully.

"All right, all right." Q took a deep breath. "I'm assuming you've made a decision about the other matter?" Q said diplomatically. He didn't believe Rodriguez had surveillance on the pool area, but it was best to be discrete regardless. Besides, that man was quieter on his feet than Q's cats.

When Bond didn't reply immediately, Q quickly added, "Well, I've been thinking, Bond. I know this is a bit of a stretch, but have you considered actually allowing _Rodriguez_ to handle this, as he's already said he would? He is rather protective of you, after all, and he's been in this business longer than you have. I'm quite certain if he believed this Sciarra character to be a threat to you, he'd take care of him personally."

Bond merely looked at him, not saying a word.

"Oh, bloody hell," Q said sharply. "That's exactly it, isn't it? You don't want to put _him_ in danger either." He threw his hands in the air. "You do realize you're just as much of an idiot as he is?"

"Kettle, pot," Bond said blandly.

"Well, at least I _admit_ I'm an idiot!" Q replied hotly, then slumped backward in his chair. "Well, bugger," he said more quietly, "that didn't come out exactly right, did it?"

Bond laughed softly, hanging his head, then looked up to meet Q's eyes. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Q, but my original issue remains. I can't just sit here and allow others to put themselves in danger because of me. Besides, there's even more at stake now. You know I'm not wired to be a mere spectator, regardless."

Q sighed. "Yes, I do. Unfortunately, so does Rodriguez." He paused. "You're aware that when Rodriguez realizes exactly _why_ you gave him that ring -- and it's not the reason he originally _thought_ it was -- he's going to go absolutely, bat-shit insane?"

Wincing, Bond said, "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."

"Yes, and then fall screaming into the crevasse as the bridge dissolves under your feet," Q muttered sarcastically. "At least you'll have company."

Bond stood and walked over to Q's chair. 

"Q," he said patiently, holding out his hands, "just give me the rings, please."

Since he knew he wasn't going to talk Bond out of this madness, he pulled first one ring, then the other out of different pockets. "This one's yours," he said, dropping it into Bond's left hand, "and this one's Rodriguez's," dropping the other into Bond's right hand. " _Please_ don't mix them up, 007, or you'll be going on an extremely short jaunt indeed."

Bond smiled at him as he put the rings in separate pockets. "I'm not an idiot, Q," he said teasingly.

"Famous last words," Q said morosely. "There's a lot of those going around recently, for some unknown reason."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Choo-choo!_ Bet you can't see the massive train wreck that's a'comin' down the tracks, hmm? It's a mystery to me how three extremely intelligent men can act like such incredible . . . well, _idiots_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this chapter we take an individual who decides his communication skills are perfectly fine as long as his martinis are mixed correctly. We then take another individual who is _so_ inherently unstable that he gives the fault line he built his headquarters on a run for its money. We mix well, stand back, and . . . (double checks to make sure the "angst" tag is still in place) watch the resultant implosion from what we pray is a safe distance. 
> 
> Fair warning, folks.

Tiago tracked Bond to the indoor shooting range and approached him cautiously from behind, stopping less than a yard away. He knew better than to startle a trained field operative with a gun in his hand, since that tended to be extremely harmful to one's continued health.

However, Bond was evidently so focused on his target practice that he didn't even notice Tiago's arrival, which caused him to sigh deeply. Even with the hearing protectors, Bond should have realized that someone was _this_ close to him. An agent didn't survive long in the field without acquiring some sort of sixth sense, and Tiago knew this man possessed that rare ability in spades. Or, at least, he _used_ to possess it.

His little rat was definitely losing his edge, and gauging by the widely erratic shot pattern of his current target, it wasn't just situational awareness. Tiago tended to harass him mercilessly about his range scores, but he knew that Bond was _normally_ an excellent shot.

But today, his gun arm was actually shaking, which might account for the pathetic shot grouping but was distinctly unusual for him. Well, unusual ever since Tiago had circumvented the man's headlong plunge into alcoholism, that is. 

No, something was wrong. Something was _definitely_ wrong.

Not being overtly suicidal, however, Tiago waited until Bond had emptied his clip before wrapping his arms around him from behind. It was the quickest way he knew to determine whether Bond's unsteadiness was indeed from alcohol, which he had somehow managed to acquire despite Tiago's express orders, or something else entirely.

Bond gasped and jerked violently, but he must have instinctively recognized his captor, because Tiago didn't end up with an elbow in his midriff, nor was he flipped unceremoniously over the agent's shoulder. 

_Thankfully._ Tiago was getting entirely too old for that physical stuff.

"I wish you'd stop doing that," Bond said petulantly.

There was no smell of alcohol on his breath, his eyes were somewhat dilated but not particularly bloodshot, and he obviously wasn't having difficulty with loud noises. So, it most likely wasn't related to the effects of an illicit drinking binge, after all. Surprise, surprise.

"Stop doing what, _pequeño_? Holding you?" He kissed Bond lightly on the neck. "If you must know, there are some things that even _I_ would find impossible to accomplish."

Bond sighed. "At least allow me put the gun away before I'm tempted to shoot some tosser I shouldn't be shooting."

Tiago chuckled. "Difficult to do with an empty clip, but I guess I can keep my hands off of you for that long." He sighed dramatically, gazing heavenward. "If I must."

After Tiago released him, Bond removed the clip, cleared the chamber, and then put the gun and the hearing protectors in the cabinet. He turned to face Tiago, but surprisingly, he wouldn't quite meet his eyes, which Tiago found worrisome indeed.

Stepping closer, Tiago lifted the man's chin, then released it to grip him by both shoulders. "Are you feeling all right, James?" He looked Bond over carefully. "If I remember correctly, you didn't eat much at breakfast this morning." He paused to think, his eyes narrowing. "Or last night, for that matter."

Bond shook his head. "Just feeling a little under the weather. It'll pass."

Suspicious of Bond's too-casual response, Tiago studied him again. "Are you sure? You're shivering." He ran his hands down Bond's arms and then up and down his flanks, an old habit he'd acquired during Bond's training when he couldn't be certain if the man was minimizing an injury and therefore had to verify his condition himself.

Bond _should_ have been accustomed to this process by now, and he certainly hadn't tried to thwart Tiago before, at least not since his training had been completed, but this time Bond flinched and actually attempted to sidestep away from Tiago's hold.

Gripping Bond's hips to prevent the movement, Tiago narrowed his eyes at him. "What are you trying to hide from me, _pequeño_?"

"Nothing," Bond replied immediately, but his nostrils flared slightly with his most recognizable of tells.

Tiago didn't call him on the lie, at least not yet, but only because he felt this particular situation required privacy and absolutely no chance of interruptions. He was never sure where Q and his damn vermin cats might show up next. "Come with me," he said tightly, and at least Bond knew better than to argue with Tiago while he was experiencing this degree of . . . irritation.

Bond walked willingly enough by his side, although he did seem suspiciously unsteady. Knowing this was potentially a ruse, Tiago kept a grip on his upper arm just to be safe, not interested in the running and jumping required if Bond decided to be _openly_ rebellious. 

Tiago didn't know what the hell was going on here, but he definitely intended to find out.

After they'd entered their suite and Tiago turned to close the door behind them, he switched his grip from Bond's arm to encircle his waist. It was then that he felt something that was neither flesh nor fabric. Something in one of Bond's pockets.

And given Bond's violent twitch, this was apparently what his little rat had been attempting to hide from him.

Turning to face Bond, he crossed his arms and gave him his best implacable stare. "Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the class, James?"

Bond immediately dropped his eyes again, a sure sign he was extremely uncomfortable, and he licked his lips nervously. "This isn't exactly how I planned this to go," he finally said, still not looking up.

Tiago froze. He abruptly had a myriad of thoughts flying through his head, and none of them reassuring. From Bond's noticeably unsettled demeanor, it _couldn't_ be anything good. Had he been stifling Bond a little too much these last few months? Had his little rat changed his mind about wanting to stay with Tiago? He hoped not, because if that was indeed the issue, he wasn't sure he could even _permit_ him to leave at this point. 

Actually, he was quite positive he couldn't.

He was so utterly convinced that Bond intended to leave him, that when the man fumbled in his pocket, dropped down to one knee and held out a ring, he simply couldn't comprehend what he was trying to do. At all. His brain had shut down _that_ completely. Likewise, when Bond asked, "Tiago, will you marry me?" he could only manage to stare at the man like an absolute idiot, totally blindsided.

Never in a million years would he have imagined that Bond would take the initiative and propose to him. Oh, he was certain he'd eventually wear the man down and have him agree to _Tiago's_ proposal, but this was so utterly unexpected, it was almost unthinkable. 

In fact, he'd have been less surprised if the earth had suddenly stopped rotating. As a result, the few coherent thoughts that remained inside his head skittered away like leaves in a gale.

Seemingly never to return.

Tiago's stunned silence had evidently made Bond a little insecure himself. Not surprising, since he wasn't accustomed to silence of _any_ kind coming from Tiago. Bond rose shakily from his kneeling position, his eyes wide and hopeful, grasping the ring like a lifeline. 

And still Tiago couldn't force himself to utter a single word -- even knowing that a _single_ word was all he needed. 

_One little word._

Clearly distressed now, Bond dropped his gaze from Tiago's face and stared again at the floor. And _this_ time, when Bond spoke, his voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. "If this isn't something you wanted, Franz, I understand . . ." 

Bond cut himself off abruptly, but the damage had most definitely been done. 

Tiago's bewildered mind snapped back instantly to peak efficiency, albeit triggered by a wave of incandescent fury he hadn't felt for many, many years.

More precisely, since the first time he'd named himself Raoul Silva. 

Either Bond had caught his slip, or else he'd noticed the banked rage in Tiago's eyes, because he took a step back in obvious shock, gripping the ring so hard it must be making an indentation in his skin.

Oh yes, Tiago's mind was working with crystal clarity now. 

"Strip," he said hoarsely, his voice almost unrecognizable, even to himself.

Bond took another step back. "It's not what you think, Tiago. I . . ."

Taking a threatening step toward him, Tiago said, "I said 'strip', James. You _really_ don't want me using the collar to attain your obedience, since my control is practically nonexistent at this point." 

Bond had apparently seen the conviction in Tiago's eyes, because he immediately began to strip himself naked, pausing only once to place the ring carefully on top of his discarded clothes. He glanced up at Tiago, but then moved to sit on the edge of their bed, keeping his eyes dutifully lowered. 

He was shivering in earnest now, which was definitely atypical for this man, even while under extreme stress, but Tiago wasn't letting inconsequential details distract him from what he needed to know.

Pushing Bond to lie flat on the bed, Tiago straddled his torso but did nothing else, knowing Bond could probably feel the rage pouring off him in waves. 

How _dare_ he?

And who was this other man? This man who was so important to _his_ little rat that Bond had at least considered gifting him with a ring? 

And yes, Tiago was quite confident that a ring had been involved, since Bond had never even mentioned this man's name before. There simply _had_ to be a connection. He did not believe in coincidences.

But still, it made no fucking _sense_. Tiago had been watching Bond for years, and he knew there had been no other men in his life. He had made _certain_ of that. The closest had been René Mathis, and that potential obstacle had been eliminated long before Tiago had been forced to perform the deed himself. 

He did have a first name, however. _Franz_. The name was vaguely familiar to Tiago, so it must be linked to someone from Bond's past, but if so, he obviously hadn't considered this particular person to be a threat.

_Until now._

Was this the reason why Bond had been so reluctant to commit to Tiago in the first place? Why he seemed so inexplicably nervous while proposing to him? Granted, Tiago hadn't exactly been articulate at the time, but surely he must have known his answer could only be 'yes.'

Bond's face had gone remarkably pale, and he was still shivering, but he made no move to speak until spoken to. His training held to that degree, at least. 

" _Who_ is this man, James?"

Bond swallowed convulsively. "Tiago, let me up, please."

Tiago gripped his shoulders and shook him, struggling against the urge to punish. He knew he didn't possess enough control for that. "Not until you answer me, James."

Shaking his head, Bond swallowed again. "If you don't want me throwing up on you, or this bed, you'll let me up." He looked up at him beseechingly. " _Now_ , please."

Shocked, Tiago belatedly recognized the signs that told him Bond was indeed not exaggerating, and he moved aside to allow Bond to slide off the bed. 

Bond stumbled as he got to his feet, nearly falling, then he hurried into the loo, and almost immediately Tiago heard the sounds of retching coming from within.

Tiago got up and paused at the doorway, thoroughly disconcerted. However, after seeing how miserable Bond looked as he knelt on the floor, Tiago soaked a towel and knelt beside him, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he continued to retch, seemingly without end.

When Bond finally appeared to have expelled everything remaining in his stomach, he sat back on his heels. Still not looking at Tiago, he said softly, "Franz was my foster brother. He didn't want me, not in the way you're thinking." He looked over at Tiago then. "I was _twelve years old_ , Tiago."

Tiago merely stared at him for a few moments, but then nodded reluctantly. Now he recalled the name -- Franz Oberhauser, the son of Bond's first appointed guardian after his parents' deaths. 

However, there was something Bond was not saying, or at least something he was not admitting to himself. Bond was an expert at repressing trauma, and by now, Tiago easily recognized the signs. This particular incident _must_ have also involved a ring of some sort, or else Bond wouldn't have confused their respective names while under the stress of offering one to Tiago. 

No, something was definitely amiss, and he'd have to investigate this matter further.

Bond was still staring at him, however, apparently unnerved by Tiago's continued silence. "Franz is _dead_ ," he said. "He died in an avalanche, years ago. He can't possibly be a threat to our relationship." He winced as another wave of nausea apparently swept through him. Bond looked away, hanging his head. "My proposal to you was absolutely sincere, Tiago."

Noting the flushed appearance of Bond's skin, Tiago pressed his hand against his forehead and felt the heat there, even after the cold compresses he'd just applied. He sighed. "Do you think you're finished with the loo for now, James?"

Bond merely nodded wearily, and Tiago helped him to his feet, supporting him as he first rinsed his mouth at the sink, and then again as they walked toward the bed. 

After settling Bond on the bed, he said, "Just rest. I will contact Diego."

Bond remained silent, not automatically protesting the need for medical attention, which was a rather disquieting indication of how badly he must be feeling. Tiago's unease increased exponentially.

He was almost to the door when he turned and saw Bond staring at the abandoned ring. It was difficult to ignore, as it reflected the bright sunlight from the bay window like a tiny beacon from its position atop Bond's discarded clothes. When Bond looked up, Tiago could see the misery in the man's eyes, and he somehow knew it wasn't solely from whatever illness he was currently suffering.

Silently castigating himself, Tiago wondered if he'd ever stop causing this man undeserved pain. He couldn't undo the events of the last few minutes, but he could at least make _something_ right.

Walking quickly toward the bed, he picked up the ring and slipped it onto his own finger. Then he bent over to kiss Bond gently on the forehead, saying solemnly, "I accept, James." At the obvious look of relief that crossed Bond's face, he added, "Is there another ring in your pocket?"

Bond seemed to hesitate, but then nodded.

Searching the pockets, he found the other ring, and without further delay, slid it carefully onto Bond's finger. He eyed their hands and the matching rings with an odd mixture of pleasure and apprehension. The apprehension surprised him somewhat, since he had literally been waiting for this moment for years. Perhaps he would feel more optimistic once they had time to fully appreciate this momentous occasion. 

_Later._

Tiago tipped his chin up. "I assume the 'carrying across the threshold' will have to wait until you're feeling better, hmm?"

Bond nodded, smiling wanly, and Tiago kissed him lightly on the lips this time. 

This should be the happiest moment of his life, but he couldn't quite shake that lingering feeling of unease. And unfortunately, he'd learned the hard way that he'd best trust his instincts. 

_Madre de Dios. Why couldn't he even become_ engaged _without the underlying drama?_

**************************************

Dr. Diego Almeida had barely stepped out from under the rotor wash of the helicopter before Tiago grabbed him by the elbow and started to drag him toward the compound. Diego consolidated his grip on his medical bag and reluctantly allowed himself to be manhandled. 

So, it was señor Bond who was ill, then. Tiago would not be nearly this frantic about anyone else. Well, 'frantic' as this eminently self-controlled man was capable of becoming.

"Tiago?" he asked doubtfully, as the man showed no signs of slowing his forward momentum.

Frantic or not, it would certainly be helpful if the impossible man would deign to _speak_ to him. "And good evening to you as well," Diego prompted sarcastically as his employer continued to ignore him, punching in the keycode to the compound's main door with a little more force than was absolutely necessary.

Clearly focused on a specific goal, Tiago barely even glanced his way, and he certainly did not grant him the courtesy of a reply.

 _So be it._

Having finally reached the limits of his 'Tiago tolerance', and tired of being dragged around like a two-legged utility cart, Diego stopped abruptly in the corridor, which surprised the other man enough that it nearly brought them both crashing to the floor. 

Tiago turned to glower at him. "Why are you stopping, Diego? James may be dying of some horrible disease, and you want to stop and chat?"

Pulling free of Tiago's grasp and crossing his arms, Diego replied, "If your young man was in any _imminent_ danger of dying, you would have brought him _to me at the clinic_ rather than merely demanding my presence here." He silently fumed. "Besides, that would have been the _considerate_ thing to do, which we both know is definitely atypical behaviour for you."

Tiago appeared ready to snap back a reply, then apparently thought better of it and said, "Well, perhaps not _imminent_ danger, but it's obviously something serious."

"What exactly is wrong with him, Tiago?" he asked patiently.

Instead of replying, Tiago inexplicably shoved his left hand in front of his face, wiggling his fingers. "He gave me _this_!" he finally said, his voice rising in his agitation.

Diego could feel his jaw dropping. "You think James is _dying_ because he proposed to you?" He rolled his eyes. "Normal people would think that congratulations were in order, not an invitation to a funeral."

Tiago tsked sharply, but the frantic look never quite left his eyes. " _Dios!_ Not _only_ that, Diego! At first, he seemed somewhat disoriented, but he hasn't been eating, he has a fever, constant shivering, and he's very nauseous." 

"A fever? That could be concerning, yes, but it hardly seems life-threatening. Unless . . ?" He paused. "How long has he been having these symptoms?"

Tiago turned and again started to pull him down the corridor. "I'm not sure. Less than twenty-four hours, perhaps?"

"Less than twenty-four . . ." Diego again stopped abruptly, and this time when Tiago turned around, he stomped down hard on the man's instep. 

Tiago yelped, immediately releasing him, then hopped on one foot, cradling the 'injured' one in his hand.

Diego sighed. He should not have been surprised. Regardless of his current anxiety about James, the man _still_ could not manage to dispense with the melodramatics. "Is James in your rooms?" he asked sharply, ignoring the pitiful display.

Tiago merely nodded, gingerly placing his foot back on the floor.

"Since we _both_ know this is hardly enough time to be even remotely concerned, _you_ will go somewhere else, and I will examine James." He pointed a finger at Tiago when he seemed ready to protest. "Alone," he said firmly. "You are quite aware that I have no sexual leanings toward your young man _at all_ , and I refuse to have you hovering over us like an undernourished vulture while I examine him."

"But . . ."

"Leave _now_. You are only delaying his treatment. I will find you when I have information to pass on."

Tiago still appeared prepared to argue, but his shoulders finally slumped. "I'll be my computer room."

" _Bueno_. See that you stay there." Diego waited to make sure that Tiago actually did go in the direction he had stated -- limping pathetically, of course -- then turned back in the direction of their suite. 

He had not gone very far, however, before he very nearly collided with the young man they referred to merely as "Q," who appeared to have been "lurking," if that was indeed the correct term, in a nearby room.

"Dr. Almeida," the young man said respectfully, but Diego noticed his eyes were scanning the corridors as if for some approaching threat. "Might I have a moment of your time?"

"If it can wait a few minutes, I would like to examine James first," he replied, raising an ironic eyebrow. "From past experience, I have learned to move as quickly as I can, before Tiago's separation anxiety becomes unmanageable. He tends to respond to such stress in a rather . . . unproductive manner."

The young man looked distinctly relieved. "Not in a _violent_ manner, then?"

Diego smiled. " _Oh, si_ , that as well. Most definitely."

Q stared at him for a few moments, eyes wide, then cleared his throat. He said, "Well, then. Speaking of separation anxiety, you should probably hear me out _before_ you see Bond."

Curious and now a little concerned, Diego nodded his assent and followed the young man into a nearby unoccupied room.

However, after Q had finished speaking and had made his request of him, Diego stared in silent shock for a few moments before he could gather his wits enough to reply.

 _Dios_. And he had thought _children's_ motives were difficult to decipher. At least they had youth and inexperience as an excuse for their lack of common sense.

He sighed, knowing he would have to break into his medicinal stock of paracetamol. He felt a massive headache coming on. 

_Perhaps it is time for me to retire, after all._

**************************************

Tiago eyed the information he had found on one Franz Oberhauser and cursed under his breath. How could he have missed something so obvious? He must be getting senile, after all.

Glancing at his watch and noting the time, he figured it should be safe to contact Luis at this point. If he hadn't already completed his mission successfully, he was most likely dead. Either way, the call wasn't likely to be an inconvenience to him.

 _Bah_. And Diego had said he couldn't be considerate.

He rang his second-in-command's number and waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on his desk. While patience had never been a problem for him before, Tiago found it almost immeasurably strained after the most recent developments. 

Diego hadn't helped matters, being his usual bossy self. Not to mention _sadistic_. So much for 'First do no harm' -- he'd be lucky if he wasn't crippled for life.

Thankfully, Luis answered his phone promptly. "Yes, sir?" he said at a normal volume.

Good. He had obviously completed his mission without incident.

"Did you get the information I sent you for?" Tiago said without preamble. Before Luis could even reply, he heard the sound of an overhead announcement, first in Italian, then in English, and Tiago's mood improved dramatically. His second was already at the airport then.

"Yes, sir," Luis replied. "As you suspected, I was unable to attend the meeting personally, but your miniaturized drone functioned perfectly." 

Tiago sighed. At least _something_ was working flawlessly. "Transmit the data to me immediately, then get to Lima as fast as you can." 

Luis didn't reply in words, but he saw the data burst coming across his computer and blessed his second's competence yet again. 

"I was just preparing to board," Luis said. "You have another task for me, sir?"

The download indicated its completion, and Tiago said, "Yes, I do. I was planning on eliminating this particular obstacle myself, but I find myself unable to leave James at the moment." He sent back the instructions along with a photograph, and said, "As quickly as you can, please."

"Where can I find this man?"

"He will likely be attending the _Señor de los Milagros_ festival at some point," Tiago replied.

There was a distinct pause. "That is a rather . . . daunting task, sir."

Tiago smiled, but he knew his tone of voice would indicate his displeasure at any hint of failure nonetheless. "There are only eight and half million people currently residing in Lima. I have every faith in your abilities, Luis."

He rang off, then pulled up the photographs that his drone had obtained from SPECTRE's most recent "board meeting." He had an existing voiceprint of Blofeld, of course, but he had been so dismissive of the man's organisation that he had never bothered to obtain an actual photograph. 

Careless of him, but obviously this was now of extreme importance. 

There. Sitting at the head of the table like the beloved patriarch of an extended family. How utterly, pathetically pretentious. That _had_ to be Blofeld.

The image wasn't of the highest resolution, but it was enough. He accessed his image recognition and comparison program, and then input two photographs -- one of Blofeld and one of a young Franz Oberhauser. 

As he had suspected, the computer came back with a 98% match, even given the graininess of the images and the significant age difference, but then, he would have been surprised if it had not. The man had been arrogant enough to use his mother's maiden name as his assumed name, for heaven's sake.

Tiago sat back in his chair.

Now, he knew exactly whom he needed to kill, but the burning question still remained.

Did James _truly_ believe his foster brother was dead, or was he aware that the man was still alive?

 _And_ demanding that James be returned to him.

**************************************

"So, James," Diego said, as he entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him. "I hear you are feeling poorly."

James looked at him blearily, and Diego noted from across the room the paleness of his features.

"Something like that," James replied.

Sitting carefully on the bed next to his patient, Diego pulled a thermometer out of his bag. He became slightly concerned when the man didn't even protest having the device placed in his mouth. From past experience with both James and Tiago, he had expected to require extreme measures for even such a minor intrusion. 

As in, first knocking him unconscious and then tying him to the bed.

Evidently, James was feeling badly enough to _willingly_ submit to a medical examination. Very concerning, indeed.

Once Diego had ascertained that James was indeed running a low grade fever, he asked, "Tiago tells me you have had nausea and I assume vomiting. Any other symptoms I should know about?"

Looking up at him warily, Bond said, "I've had some abdominal pain, nothing else too serious."

"Hmm. Tiago also told me that you had been shivering and seemed somewhat disoriented."

Narrowing his eyes and glancing quickly around the room, James said, "Where _is_ Tiago, by the way?"

"Somewhere else, thankfully," Diego replied blandly. He tapped James on the shoulder, "Now, answer my question, please. You know he is not an overly patient man." At James' continued silence, he said more firmly, "And neither am I, young man, and I have many sharp, pointy things in this bag, which I am not afraid to use. As you should recall from past experience."

James paused, but then grudgingly admitted, "Perhaps I've felt a little off."

Sighing, Diego said, "I have had more success prying pertinent medical information from a one year old." He indicated the light blanket covering his charge. "May I examine you?"

James nodded, and Diego rose from the bed long enough to remove the blanket. He palpated the man's torso for any lumps or swellings, but when he reached his lower right abdomen, James flinched slightly.

"This is where your abdominal pain is situated?" 

James nodded again.

"Hmm," Diego said thoughtfully. "It could be appendicitis, I suppose, but I would need a CT scan and blood work to be certain." He caught James' eyes and said, "Neither of which I can obtain here on the island, of course."

"Lovely," James said hoarsely.

"Actually, I am more concerned with this disorientation Tiago mentioned. It definitely does not fit the usual symptomatology of appendicitis." He hummed slightly under his breath. "He seemed quite concerned about this, actually."

"You know how Tiago tends to exaggerate sometimes," James said doubtfully.

Diego nodded. "And I would agree with you, if I had not been steadily pressing harder in the region of your appendix while we have been talking . . . with absolutely no reaction whatsoever from you."

James' eyes widened, and Diego sat back, crossing his arms.

"You should not be so surprised. I am a pediatrician, and therefore I am accustomed to using distraction as a diagnostic tool." Diego narrowed his eyes at him. "Besides, if you had _not_ been at least slightly disoriented, you would have recognized what I was doing long before this."

James looked away, not bothering to reply.

"So, perhaps you should tell me why you want me to _think_ you have appendicitis, hmm? If it were not for the obvious fever and vomiting, I would assume you were merely faking your symptoms."

It was a good thing that Diego had spent so much time with Tiago, or else he could have easily missed the fleeting expression that crossed this one's face. An expression that he immediately recognized as guilt.

Diego inhaled sharply. "You have taken something then, have you not? Something to mimic those symptoms?"

James sighed. " _Medico_ Almeida . . ."

"No," Diego replied hotly. "You are preparing to lie to me, _jovencito_ 1, and when it comes to your well-being, I will not permit this." He glared down at the man in the bed. "If you do not tell me the truth _now_ , I will simply allow Tiago to obtain it for me." He paused significantly. "He has much more experience with accomplishing that sort of minor miracle."

James looked up at him beseechingly. "All right, all right. I'll tell you, but you must promise to hear me out completely first."

Diego looked heavenward for guidance. "And where have I heard something very similar recently?" He waved away James' questioning glance. "I promise to listen to what you have to say, James. However," he added warningly, "I cannot promise anything further, as I have prior obligations to Tiago, not to mention my own medical ethics. Do you understand this?"

" _Si,_ " James replied, although very reluctantly. 

"Now, what did you take?"

James took a deep breath, then said, "Tiago has a rather extensive array of ornamental as well as medicinal plants on this island." He looked away again, and said, "Including lily and belladonna."

Diego swore, loudly and profusely. "You actually consumed _nightshade_? Have you lost what remains of your mind, señor Bond? You could have easily died!" He hurriedly searched the contents of his bag, hoping he had not removed the bottle of activated charcoal pills he normally kept there. Luckily, he had not.

Opening the jar, he poured several capsules into his hand, then went to fetch a glass of water. He handed over the pills and waited, fuming silently, until James had dutifully swallowed them. 

Diego then reached for his stethoscope to make sure the poison had not already damaged the infuriating man's heart. James' heartbeat was indeed rapid, but it still seemed strong and regular, thankfully. He slammed the stethoscope onto the bed, and said, "I will ask you again -- _why_ is it so important for you to appear to have appendicitis that you would risk _killing_ yourself?" 

James had the grace to look abashed, but then he said, "It was only a _tiny_ bit."

Diego took a deep breath, attempting to get his temper far under enough control to allow speech. "You know, Tiago has often expressed a desire to take you over his knee and spank you like a small child, but I have always attributed this to his admittedly obsessive personality. However, _now_ I can finally understand why . . . and I must admit the urge is very nearly overwhelming." He felt his eyes narrowing and added, "James, there is a very good reason it is called _deadly_ nightshade. It does not require more than a 'bit' if you eat the wrong part of the plant!"

James hung his head, then said, " _Lo siento, Medico Almeida._ "

"You had better be! Now, if you please, answer my previous question." 

James said merely, "I needed a way off this island."

"So you decided the best method of accomplishing this was via a coffin?"

James looked up at him sharply, but he evidently knew he had gone too far this time, because he did not snap back at Diego's admittedly sarcastic reply. James sighed. "Tiago has been a bit . . . overwhelming of late, and he refuses to tell me why he won't let me out of his sight." He shrugged. "At first, I just needed a little time . . . away."

"Which is, of course, the reason you proposed to him? Because you needed 'some time away'?" 

James actually winced, and Diego knew he was not going to like what was coming next. "Well, I'm afraid that's a rather long story."

"Since I must watch for any further symptoms of poisoning that might require treatment with physostigmine, which I do not carry with me by the way, we appear to have that time."

James looked up at him through his eyelashes. "You're not going to like it."

Diego sat back and clasped his hands together in his lap. "Oh, of that, _jovencito,_ I am quite certain."

James held out his left hand and indicated his ring. "This is a GPS blocker -- it will temporarily interfere with the tracking capabilities of my collar once it's activated."

Diego felt both eyebrows raising toward his hairline. "And you think this is a good idea, why exactly?"

"There is a terrorist, a man by the name of Marco Sciarra, who arrived in Lima not long ago. He's a known bomber, and Q and I feel certain he's here to disrupt the Lord of Miracles festival."

"And what does Tiago think? Lima is where he spent his boyhood, you know. The city is important to him."

James paused significantly. "I haven't actually mentioned this to him. Yet." 

Before Diego could reply, James continued, "He refuses to even allow me _near_ this man, and I can't stop him if Tiago is so busy trying to protect me that he allows something tragic to happen." He looked up at Diego beseechingly. "Or else gets himself killed, and without me there to prevent it." 

Even through his lingering symptoms from the poisoning, Diego could tell me the man was passionate about this. He could easily see the fire in his eyes. 

Because he had often seen a matching fire in Tiago's.

Diego considered this for a while, before he tried once more to resolve this sensibly. "And you think he would be any more content to have _you_ in danger? Through our long association, I have found that even when Tiago does something I consider heartless and nonsensical, he generally does have a very good reason for what he does." He arched an eyebrow at James. "Perhaps you should simply trust in that as well?"

"So you're content with risking the lives of your own countrymen?"

"Of course not. But if you insist on risking your own life, you must also realize how this will effect Tiago, especially should you be killed in the process. Tiago Rodriguez would not survive your death, but his alter ego very likely would, since he _originated_ from a similar unfathomable pain." 

When James did not reply, Diego stared hard into his eyes, contemplating the many things his old friend had done _before_ his obsession with this man, and how much worse he would be after his death. "Perhaps you think your risky expedition is worth unleashing Raoul Silva again upon the world, but I . . ." He paused, shaking his head sadly. "I am not so sure _anything_ is worth that risk."

James was now visibly agitated. "Even if I told you there was a chance this terrorist has a _nuclear_ device?"

Diego inhaled sharply, but he had already known what his answer would be, even without this knowledge. Señor Bond was too stubborn and too determined. He would find a way off this island with or without Diego, but perhaps there was something _he_ could do to mitigate the imminent catastrophe.

 _Both_ of them.

But there was still one other minor issue. "Even if I get you off this island," Diego said, "you do realize Tiago will insist on going as well?"

James nodded. "Once I'm off this rock and not surrounded by miles of empty ocean, I can find a way around him."

"Really? That should prove very interesting," Diego said mildly, knowing how tightly Tiago was liable to cling to this man. "Very well, James. But there is one condition for my compliance in this foolhardy venture."

James eyed him suspiciously. "And that would be?"

"You will be going _nowhere_ without me." He held up a hand at James' obvious objection. "I am going to request the collar's spare activator from Tiago, and the first moment I determine you are attempting to 'ditch me', I will shock you unconscious myself." He glared down at the man in the bed. "You have not recovered from your own reckless actions, and you may still require medical assistance at any time." Bond's eyes dropped at his unforgiving tone, and Diego lifted James' chin to meet his eyes. "Is this very clear, _jovencito_?"

" _Si_ ," James eventually replied, albeit with extreme reluctance.

When Diego nodded and released James' chin, the man sighed, placing one arm over his eyes. 

Diego wasn't surprised, since one of the symptoms of his poisoning included dilated eyes, and the bright light in the room was undoubtedly painful for him. Diego reached into his bag and retrieved a leather case from within. He uncapped the needle inside, and then injected James with its contents into his other arm.

The man yelped in surprise, nearly dislodging the needle, but Diego had been prepared for that as well. Ex-agents apparently were little different from children with regard to needles.

_And many other things._

"What was in that?" James asked suspiciously.

"Antibiotic," Diego replied mildly, "just in case you _do_ have appendicitis as well."

James snorted. "That would be rather difficult, since I don't currently _have_ an appendix."

Surprised, Diego looked down at him. "Tiago would have known if you had your appendix removed, James. He has _all_ of your medical records back to your childhood."

"That's because it's not part of my medical record. I had it removed while in a jungle in Bolivia. Even _Tiago_ couldn't do surveillance there."

"James," Diego said patiently, "you do not have an appendectomy _scar_." 

Indicating a faint scar on his abdomen, near its midline, James said merely, "Here."

Diego crossed his arms, wondering what the man was trying to accomplish now. "That is nowhere near the correct location. No surgeon in their right mind would attempt that particular operation from there."

James sighed. "It wasn't a surgeon who performed the procedure. It was a Kallawayan medicine woman. They're primarily herbologists, so she had to dig around a bit before she found it." He shrugged. "She managed . . . eventually."

Diego could only stare at the man in shock. "And here I thought your 'licence to kill' meant someone _besides_ yourself." He glared down at him. "You and Tiago are too much alike. You are _both_ your own worst enemies."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 \- "youngster" or "youngling"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My abject apologies for the length of time between updates, but this fic is turning out to be surprisingly difficult to write. *sigh*
> 
> Regardless, it'll be a bit of a rollercoaster ride from here on out, so please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times . . .

Tiago looked up from his computer monitor when he heard the door open. With Luis gone and Bond indisposed, it could only be Diego -- no one else was stupid enough to interrupt him here unless the ceiling was actually falling down around their heads. And even then, they'd think about it twice. Or at least, they'd _better_ think about it twice.

He studied Diego's face carefully as he approached, but as usual, he couldn't surmise much from his expression. Diego was the most easy-going, least deceitful man Tiago had ever met, but if he didn't want you to know what he was thinking, you didn't.

Plain and simple.

Well, at least he wasn't _running_ , so obviously Bond couldn't be doing too poorly. 

When he considered this further, however, he realized he had almost _never_ seen Diego running, so he presumed that didn't mean anything either. If Diego were being stalked by a lion, he would simply turn and give it his customary 'You definitely do not want to do that' stare of disapproval until the poor beast gave up and found someone less intimidating to eat. 

But then, he didn't pull out a chair and sit down either, so there must be _something_ he was worried about. He had admitted to Tiago once that he preferred to give bad news while standing. That way, he could evade easier if someone reacted to the bad news in a less than placid manner. 

Not that he had ever experienced that particular scenario with _Tiago_ , of course. Perish the thought.

However, when he merely continued to stand there and stare at him, Tiago couldn't handle the suspense any longer. He hated being the first to break these silences, but it was a contest he knew he was eternally fated to lose. 

_Damn the man._

"Well, is James going to live?" Tiago finally asked, a touch acerbically.

Diego merely rolled his eyes at him, so he was going to take that as a "yes." Tiago heaved a massive sigh of relief, despite himself. 

Shaking his head, Diego said, "If you continue to worry like that, you will give yourself a coronary." He seemed to ponder this for a bit then added, "But at least I could _treat_ something like that. Unfortunately, you would rather get yourself killed in some manner that is both exceedingly foolhardy and utterly avoidable." He pointed an accusing finger. "You _enjoy_ taking unnecessary risks."

_Gah._ Why did the man always have to talk like he's speaking from experience? Tiago wasn't _that_ bad at putting himself in dangerous situations. The dangerous situations came to him, not the other way around. 

Well, _usually_.

"I have no idea why I put up with this," Diego added, crossing his arms. "You and James are a physician's worst nightmare."

"Diego, will you please stop lecturing me and tell me how he is _doing_? My stress might be considerably lessened that way. It's been almost two _hours_."

And still Diego hesitated, as if he had to consider exactly how much he should say. "He had another bout of vomiting, but he is stable for now." 

"But . . ?"

"If I knew exactly what his state of health would be _long term_ , I would tell you," he said, raising an imperious eyebrow at him. "However, to accomplish that, I would need to run some tests first."

Tiago stilled, his blood suddenly running cold. "You want to take him off the island." 

He didn't want to permit that. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to keep Bond _here_ , and he hadn't survived this long by ignoring his instincts.

Diego merely nodded. "He has many symptoms of appendicitis, but he also has some that are not consistent with that disorder. Therefore, at the very least I will need to obtain a CT scan." 

He held up a hand before Tiago could mention the obvious solution to that particular dilemma. 

"And no, you do not have time to obtain a CT scanner and have it installed on this island." The man had the audacity to roll his eyes again. "If he _does_ have appendicitis and the organ ruptures, we cannot afford the time required for your paranoia to find another solution."

"Can't you just remove the appendix yourself?"

Diego glared at him, again. "Even if I were a thoracic surgeon and not a _pediatrician_ , one does not operate without reasonable proof that there is indeed a reason to do so. Even such a relatively common procedure entails a risk of both infection and death." He glowered at the wall over Tiago's shoulder, evidently miffed at someone other than Tiago for a change. "Of course, some so-called _operations_ are inherently more risky than others," he continued scathingly.

Tiago was mildly curious as to what had irritated the generally even-tempered physician so severely, but then, he had just come from visiting a bed-ridden Bond, so he probably shouldn't be surprised. Neither Tiago nor Bond were the sort to exhibit cheerful, sunny dispositions while confined to a bed.

Regardless, he knew Diego wasn't going to budge on this, and he couldn't risk Bond's life by not agreeing to his recommendations. That's what he paid the man for, after all.

He only wished Luis wasn't still twelve hours away by plane. He had the distinct feeling he was going to need the backup.

"Very well, Diego. I will do as you ask . . . as usual." Still having severe misgivings, he nevertheless pulled out his phone to make the necessary arrangements with his pilot. 

"Why do you not have an intercom system?" Diego asked curiously, indicating Tiago's ubiquitous cell phone. "For someone who makes his living with electronics, you seem to have avoided installing the most convenient of those systems here."

Tiago raised an ironic eyebrow. "It is much harder to disrupt, or listen into, a properly encrypted cell signal than a standard intercom system. Of course, I'm speaking from the experience of having done so with _other_ people's intercoms, on multiple occasions." He shrugged. "It's a living, I suppose."

He left instructions with his pilot to have the helicopter prepped and to assemble a crew. He had barely finished, however, before he heard his call waiting tone. He answered it immediately. Everyone who had this number knew to use it only in emergencies.

"Rodriquez," Q said from the other end of the call, his voice tight and strained. "We have a situation here."

At the same time, his firewall program blared its primary intruder alarm.

"Cyber attack?" Tiago asked, activating the monitoring programs. "The firewall and my SIEM software should have automatically repelled anything that tripped them. There isn't a more sophisticated system in the world." 

He heard the sound of Q's furious typing over the phone. "Yes, I'm very impressed with its capabilities, and I'm sure it would do exactly that, if it only had to fend off _one_ hostile intrusion at a time."

Alarmed, Tiago pulled up the specifics on his own terminal. Q was unfortunately correct. Not just two or three, but dozens of threat signals, all from different IP addresses, all seemingly working independently of each other. It shouldn't be possible. Even _he_ didn't have the computer power to manage something of this complexity, even with the Cray supercomputer on the basement level of his compound _and_ its linked network of other computers strategically based around the world.

"I could use a little assistance here," Q said, obviously distracted. "I recognize some of these intrusion programs -- our National Cyber Security Centre, China's PLA, Russia's Signal Intelligence, and even America's Cyber Command. It's like we're under attack by every intelligence service in the world."

Tiago hissed a breath through his teeth. Blofeld's so-called 'Nine Eyes' network. Somehow he had managed to co-opt the resources of at least _some_ of the major intelligence agencies, although likely without their cooperation, or even knowledge, given the list of countries Q had just mentioned. That particular group of nations would never _voluntarily_ link their intelligence systems together.

If Tiago hadn't been distracted by . . . other things, he might have detected the network long before it could be fully implemented, but it was too late now. Granted, Bond was absolutely unparalleled as a distraction, and Tiago hadn't believed the concept was even feasible when Blofeld had casually mentioned it years ago, but Tiago detested making rank amateur mistakes. And grossly underestimating an opponent wasn't even the least of these.

"Keep doing what you've been doing, Q. I'm on it as well," he said, ringing off.

However, he had just started to assist Q when all but the emergency lights suddenly went out, plunging the suddenly darkened room into a nightmarish scene of lurid red illumination and ominous shadows.

There was only the briefest of flickers from his terminal as the main power automatically switched to the emergency generators, but Tiago still swore under his breath. The Cray sucked up power like a sponge, and while the generators could run for hours under a normal load, they couldn't last nearly as long with the power drain from the supercomputer. 

They had to get this threat contained _now_ , before they were forced to shut down the Cray. If not, this attack could still take down his network by hacking into his auxiliary systems elsewhere in the world. 

And how the fucking _hell_ had they managed to cut the power to the island in the first place? It shouldn't have been even remotely possible, and he therefore hadn't planned adequately for such an occurrence. _Obviously._

Bond apparently wasn't the only one losing his edge.

Regardless, it was now abundantly clear they were under a concerted attack, and he had absolutely no doubt Blofeld was behind it. Without the certainty of computer control for his weapon installations, the island was extremely vulnerable to a conventional attack. This _had_ to be Blofeld's ultimate goal, since Tiago knew how determined he was to get his hands on James. 

The man never did anything by halves, and he was psychotic enough to give megalomaniacs a bad name.

Tiago felt the building shake briefly as if with a minor earthquake, but it didn't _feel_ quite like a quake. He'd been through enough of them to know. In fact, it was unusual enough that he'd normally verify this through the USGS earthquake monitoring website – when you lived directly on top of a major fault line, you quickly learned to keep track of such things. For now, however, it was merely a minor curiosity, and time was something that neither he nor Bond had at the moment. 

He had no other alternative. Regardless of his reluctance to be separated from his little rat, he couldn't take the chance that they'd be subjected to a siege scenario with Bond unable to get the medical attention he needed in time. He'd never forgive himself if he were responsible for his lover's death.

_Mierda._ He had to get Bond off the island _now_ , before it was too late. 

"Diego," he said tightly, still working in concert with Q to keep the invasive programs at bay. "Take James, and get off the island now." He stopped long enough to open a drawer and pull out its contents. "Here," he said, tossing the manual activator to Diego. "I've modified this to wear as a bracelet for ease of use and accessibility. Just in case James gets the misguided idea to return here before he is completely healed."

"But if you are under attack . . . ?"

Tiago practically snarled, "If I'm under attack, it's because they want _James_ , not me!" 

Diego remained conspicuously silent, but then, he had learned through experience never to respond immediately to Tiago's occasional bouts of volatile temper. 

Taking a deep breath, Tiago tamped his anger down, since absolutely none of this was Diego's fault. Besides, he would need a cool head to extricate himself from this mess. "Luis is on his way back from Rome," he said more calmly. "I will have him meet you at the hospital, and I will be there as soon as we get this under control." 

There was a short pause and a ragged sigh, but Diego eventually said, " _Si_ , Tiago."

Tiago heard the door close as he frantically blocked another wave of incoming attacks. 

" _If_ we get this under control," he said aloud to no one in particular.

********************************

Q was working feverishly to fight off the invaders, and he could tell exactly when Rodriguez joined the fight, because suddenly he had _only_ half a dozen attacks to fend off instead of twice that many. Rodriguez's sophisticated anti-intrusion software was helping, but it was definitely being overrun. 

Regardless, he and Rodriguez together were finally making headway against the onslaught. That is, until the overhead lights suddenly blinked out. He heard the telltale "blip" of a power relay being activated somewhere in the room, and thankfully his terminal didn't power down on him, but it was still suspiciously dreadful timing.

Very suspicious indeed.

Q winced. Bugger and blast. He'd somehow managed to catch Rodriguez's paranoia, and the thought of acquiring _any_ of that man's character traits was a tad disturbing, to say the least.

He was still stressing over this cheery development when his phone rang. Q jumped slightly but quickly picked it up, holding it between his shoulder and ear so he could keep working. "Really, Rodriguez. Now's a fine time to realize you forgot to pay the electric bill."

"Perhaps he should have spent less time hacking MI6's communications then."

Q's eyes widened. Definitely _not_ Rodriguez. He was so thoroughly gobsmacked that all he could manage was, "M?"

"Who else were you expecting after that stunt Rodriguez pulled?" Her voice was clipped and _very_ angry. "I had resolved to leave those two reprobates alone as long as they behaved themselves, and look what being chivalrous got me. My _new_ quartermaster tells me that someone hacked into our secure communications network _weeks_ ago, but he was too bloody incompetent to actually _notice_ it until now." She took a deep breath, evidently attempting to control her anger long enough to continue. "And _now,_ our intelligence network has been commandeered for some as yet undetermined purpose, but knowing Rodriguez, it is no doubt unnecessarily convoluted and entirely nefarious. You will therefore tell that insufferable man to cease his cybernetic machinations this instant, or there'll be hell to pay." 

There was a brief pause. From some people, this might feel like a reprieve, but coming from M, it was more likely to generate the same mind-shattering panic that immediately precedes, 'Ready, aim, fire.' 

"Nor will I ignore my _former_ quartermaster's likely significant contribution to this fiasco," she added, but definitely _not_ as an afterthought.

"Fuck," Q said succinctly. He'd almost prefer the firing squad.

"What was that, Quartermaster?" M said icily.

"M, it can't be Rodriguez," Q countered desperately. " _We're_ the ones currently under attack, on multiple fronts, and I can absolutely guarantee he's in no position to be hacking into _anyone's_ system at the moment." Q felt a chill pass through him as M's previous comment finally registered. "Wait a minute. If you were trying to keep your distance from Rodriguez and Bond, why did you send that message telling Bond to kill Sciarra?"

" _What_ message? And kill whom?" Q could fairly hear her confusion and aggravation over the line. "Bond rarely obeyed orders when he actually _worked_ for MI6. Why would I think the bloody infuriating man would do so after he'd _resigned_?"

_Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. No wonder they targeted MI6's secure communications first._ "Listen, M. I can virtually guarantee that Rodriguez has not attempted to hack MI6, but I think he might know who has." 

And holy fuck, with that realization came another disquieting thought. The whole situation with Sciarra must have been a trap. 

A trap designed for _one_ person in particular.

He felt a faint rumbling beneath his feet, but oddly enough his cats hadn't given him their usual yowling warning prior to one of the frequent tremblors passing through the island chain. Just one more peculiarity to add to a progressive accumulation of them.

Events seemed to be rapidly escalating out of control, but he _had_ to stop Bond before he managed to get his damn fool self off the island. That was his number one priority. "M, I have a bit of a situation here. I'll get back to you." 

"Quartermaster, don't you dare . . ."

He rang off while M was still speaking, but he had more important things to worry about than aggravating his former boss. 

Like saving Bond's life. 

And very likely saving his own life in the process, since he knew his _current_ boss wasn't going to be exactly pleased about this. 

********************************

Tiago's helicopter pilot checked in immediately before take-off. Since Tiago's standing orders required complete radio silence while in flight, he wouldn't be able to contact them again until they reached the mainland. 

It was going to be the longest twenty minutes of Tiago's life, but he wasn't going to risk anyone being able to lock a missile on some spurious electronic emanation.

He hadn't even been able to visit Bond beforehand, because keeping Blofeld from infiltrating his network was his most immediate, inescapable priority.

Together, he and Q had made definitive progress toward that goal, so Tiago turned his attention to remotely shutting down and then disconnecting his other servers on the network. That way, if he was forced to shut down his primary server here on the island due to power issues, the cyber attackers couldn't continue their work on his less protected remote computers. 

He could have simply shut down his primary server at the onset of the attack, but the system would have still been vulnerable as it completed its shut down procedure, and since his communications were tied into the system as well, he'd have lost virtually all contact with the outside world. 

He'd have to do so eventually, of course, until he could get his main power restored, but at this point, it was a matter of pride. If he and Q together couldn't turn aside this attack, he'd best retire as a professional hacker.

Tiago had just managed to isolate the last server when his phone rang, yet again. He checked the caller ID before answering it this time. 

"What is it, Q?" he said, still distracted, as he resumed his fight against the remaining invaders. 

Q had evidently been very busy while Tiago had been shutting down the network, and his regard for the young man's abilities rose another notch. He hadn't expected to resolve this complex, multifaceted issue quite so soon. Tiago blocked what was hopefully the last attacker, sending back a little surprise gift of his own against the instigator for good measure. Then he cut all outside links to the Internet temporarily, in order to stave off any attempted repeat attacks.

"Rodriguez," Q finally replied, his voice oddly strained. "If Bond has managed to talk you into allowing him off this island, don't let him."

Tiago froze. "What do you mean, 'talk me into'? Diego says he likely has appendicitis. They're on their way to the hospital now."

He heard Q swear under his breath. "Call them back."

Tiago's eyebrows rose. "I can't, not until they reach the mainland. Helicopters are a vulnerable enough target without providing a convenient electronic homing beacon for an air-to-air missile. They're under strict radio silence."

"Of course they are." Q sighed. "Look, I'll be up in a minute. We need to talk."

"Yes, apparently we do," Tiago replied.

Thoroughly disquieted after hearing Q's comments, Tiago turned on his laptop so he could track Bond's current position while he waited for Q to arrive.

The biometrics feedback was working fine. However, he had just established that he couldn't obtain an actual location using the GPS in Bond's collar when Q walked into the room. It didn't take a genius to determine exactly _who_ was responsible for this disturbing little fact, as it was definitely beyond Bond's capabilities.

He turned slowly in his chair, and his expression must have been malevolent enough that Q stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening.

Q cleared his throat, then cautiously approached him. "I see you've discovered our little problem. Or at least, part of it."

Tiago raised an eyebrow. " _Our_ little problem?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Why don't you tell me _why_ James' collar has suddenly malfunctioned so mysteriously?"

Q took a deep breath, but he didn't say a word. However, he didn't need to, because his eyes drifted almost of their own volition to the ring Tiago had only recently acquired.

From that, it was disturbingly easy to put two and two together. He stood up very slowly. "James' ring is a GPS spoofer," he said, hardly needing confirmation. It was the only thing that made sense. 

He'd been a fool. 

An incredibly stupid, incredibly _gullible_ fool.

He took a menacing step toward Q.

Surprisingly, Q held his ground, even though he was clearly terrified. "Listen, Rodriguez. We'd received a message, we thought it was from M, telling Bond he needed to kill Marco Sciarra. Only, it apparently wasn't from M."

Tiago actually snarled. "Why should I care? It only means that my _fiance_ ," and he practically spat the word, "is still more interested in obeying that old dragon than me." He took another step toward Q. "And _you_ are undoubtedly the one who made that feat possible."

Q still held his ground. "Damn you, what it means is that someone _else_ wanted to get 007 off this island." He thrust his chin up and met Tiago's eyes defiantly. "Aren't you concerned as to the reason _why_?"

Tiago finally reached Q, gripped him by the front of his shirt and threw him back against the wall, holding him there as he growled down into his face, "I know _exactly_ why they want James off the island, and I know exactly who sent that thrice-bedamned message, but it was _you_ who have now made it impossible for me to _find James and get him back_." 

He lifted Q and then slammed him back into the wall, transferring his grip to the man's neck. "I should snap your scrawny neck like a twig," he snarled. He lowered his head even further until he was only centimeters away. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now." 

He knew it was Raoul Silva speaking those words, but he didn't care. He didn't care one iota, actually. He hadn't experienced this sort of betrayal, from all fronts, since Hong Kong. Not surprisingly, it _never_ got easier to deal with such profound treachery.

Q gasped, struggling to breathe around the pressure on his trachea, but he still managed to get a few words out. 

As it turns out, they were the only words that _would_ keep him alive. At least for a little while.

"I still have a way of tracking Bond," Q said.


	9. Chapter 9

Diego had arranged an improvised stretcher for his patient in the helicopter, although James was not particularly pleased with this arrangement, to say the least. 

In fact, with the possible exception of Tiago, he had never seen _anyone_ regard a debilitating illness as if it were a grave personal insult before. If James were a llama, he would definitely be spitting by now. 

"I'm _fine_ ," James insisted, emphatically, after Diego had to push the man down to lie flat on his back, yet again.

Although Tiago's guards wore headsets to keep in contact with the pilot, this particular helicopter had excellent soundproofing, and therefore the internal noise in the rear cabin was subdued enough that he and James did not require headsets of their own. This also meant they could carry on a relatively private conversation without shouting, or fear of the guards eavesdropping.

Unfortunately, Diego almost wished he _was_ forced to shout, because this might possibly lessen his irritation with the infuriating man lying in front of him. For some reason, James seemed determined to try his limited store of patience, and since he had brought this situation upon himself exclusively through his _own_ reckless actions, Diego had absolutely no sympathy. 

"Fine? _Fine_ , you say?" Diego repeated incredulously, trying and failing to keep his voice level and calm. "And since you are indeed 'fine,' you expelled what little remained in your stomach right before we took off, is that correct?"

James paused, then said, "Better than right _after_ we took off."

Diego looked down at him forbiddingly. "Do not try to be clever with me, _jovencito_. I endure enough of that from Tiago, and you will never match him for sheer diversity, nor originality, for that matter." Dealing with Tiago alone tended to be stressful enough. The two of them together required the services of a saint, not a physician.

James appeared ready to argue, but wisely changed his mind and said instead, "How on earth did you convince Tiago to stay behind, in any case? However you managed it, I must say I'm impressed."

Diego peered at him closely, and he could clearly see the signs of anxiety and stress on James' usually impassive face -- and this after only an extremely short separation from Tiago. He had assumed James was firmly committed to this ill-advised venture, but perhaps he was regretting it, after all? 

"Are you, then?" Diego asked, genuinely curious. " _Impressed_ , I mean. Because you seem more . . . disconcerted to me."

James snapped his gaze back to him sharply. "Of course not. Having Tiago out of the picture will only make things easier."

"I see. And 'easier' has always been your preference in life to date, has it not?"

James sighed and put an arm over his eyes. "Why do I always hear 'psychiatrist' when I'm talking to you?"

Diego crossed himself. " _Por Dios!_ Please, vanquish that thought, James." He shuddered dramatically. "With regard to you and Tiago, attempting to heal your bodies is difficult enough. I would never consider the same with your collective emotional issues. It is simply not conceivable, nor even remotely possible, for that matter."

James' mouth twitched upward. "You didn't answer my original question."

"Because you distracted me with your absolutely terrifying insinuation." He briefly considered how much to tell James, but he saw no reason to withhold this information from him. There were enough secrets being kept around here. "As it turns out, I did not need to devise a reason for him to remain on the island. There was some type of 'cyber attack', I believe he called it, and Tiago stayed behind to help Q combat it."

James removed his hand from his eyes and said tensely, "What sort of attack? And from whom?"

Sighing, Diego said, "I do not know the answers to those questions, James." He raised an eyebrow at him. "But we could always turn around, and then you could ask Tiago yourself."

His expression paling even more than it already was, James slowly shook his head in negation. 

"I thought not," Diego said serenely. So, that was one question answered, at least. James was indeed dreading the repercussions of this unsanctioned excursion, and they had only just left the island behind them. 

But then, they both knew that Tiago was going to be _very_ displeased when he discovered what James was planning, to put it extremely mildly.

With that disturbing thought in mind, Diego knew he had to regain at least some control over this situation, and do so quickly. He was quite certain that James would take any opportunity to leave him behind, if only in a misguided attempt to keep Diego safe. 

Since that outcome was simply unacceptable, Diego made a point of pulling out the activator from his pocket and snapping it on his left wrist, carefully examining the few controls on its surface. They seemed to consist only of an on/off switch and some type of graduated slide, no doubt for controlling intensity. He noted that it was currently set mid scale, and he also noted that it took some effort to move the slide, he assumed for safety purposes so the intensity was not accidentally set too high initially. 

He was quite certain, however, that Tiago had been forced to use a higher setting from time to time, given the excessive stubbornness of the man lying in front of him.

Bond was watching him, eyes narrowed. "That's the activator for my collar, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, James. I did tell you I would acquire it, did I not?"

James merely nodded.

"And if circumstances require it, do you have any doubts that I would use it?"

There was a lengthy pause this time. "No?" James finally said, as if questioning himself, or more likely, Diego's determination.

Not surprisingly, Diego found himself rather incensed by this response. He acutely felt the pressure of his responsibility to keep this man safe, if not for his own sake, then certainly for Tiago's. Reaching out to grasp James' chin, he gave it a little shake, and said, "Then perhaps we should test the device, _and_ my resolve, before things get too interesting, eh?"

Eyes widening, James again shook his head slowly in response. 

Releasing him, Diego sat back, momentarily appeased. If nothing else, he had managed to get the last word.

Not that he expected that happy state of affairs to last for very long. 

He sighed. No, he definitely did not consider himself to be that lucky.

*****************************

With all the possible implications of Q's unexpected statement still rolling around in his head, Tiago abruptly released his stranglehold on Q's neck. "How?" he demanded, not entirely certain he believed him. He wouldn't put it past the man to say _anything_ to save his life, not at this point. 

He'd seen it happen before. Many times, as a matter of fact. Desperation elicited extreme measures in some men, and no one had _ever_ doubted Tiago when he threatened them.

Well, they didn't doubt him for _long_. 

Q rubbed his neck, eyeing Tiago warily. "It'll be easier if I show you," he said, rather hoarsely.

Tiago's eyes narrowed. "Of course, by all means then, _show me_." The threat was implicit in his tone of voice, but he was quite convinced Q didn't need the additional reminder. Regardless, his fury was still so intense that he grabbed the man by his shoulder and pushed him, not even remotely gently, toward the door.

Stumbling slightly, Q gave him an odd look over his shoulder but nevertheless led the way to his suite. Going directly to his terminal, he pulled up an application, entered a password, and a map of the world appeared on his monitor. 

If Q's hands were shaking slightly as he waited for the program to finish loading, Tiago declined to comment on it. He seemed to have that effect on people, for some unknown reason.

Tapping a few keys, Q narrowed its focus to the southern hemisphere, then South America, then the west coast of South America. At that resolution, an icon appeared, blinking slowly, on a direct route between Tiago's island and the city of Lima. 

Only vaguely mollified, and knowing this could be easily simulated by anyone with even a modicum of programming skills, Tiago said, "How? James is not overly fond of tracking devices of any sort."

Q looked up at him askance. "It's called 'Smart Blood' -- it's a relatively new invention of MI6's that I, uh, took the liberty of taking with me when I left the service." He pulled up another screen -- this time a diagram of a human body, which centered on an illustration of the circulatory system.

Tiago raised an eyebrow, reluctantly impressed. "Nanotechnology?" he guessed.

"Yes," Q replied. "It's still in the experimental stages, of course, but I've found that when dealing with Bond, utilising _anything_ with even a minuscule hope of success is not only advisable, but necessary."

Tiago couldn't argue with that statement. "James could _not_ have known you'd given him this," he said, pointing his chin toward the monitor. "He's far too enamored of operating as a lone wolf to eliminate one means of tracking him, only to _knowingly_ acquire another."

Q rubbed his neck wearily. "You're correct, he doesn't know." He took a deep breath and looked Tiago in the eye. "I asked Dr. Almeida to administer it."

Tiago hissed. "Diego _knew_ about all this?" 

He felt his vision darken as his blood pressure soared. It seemed the betrayal was indeed from all sides.

"No," Q responded immediately, shaking his head emphatically. "That is, I don't know what _Bond_ has told him. For all I know, the bloody idiot actually _has_ managed to acquire appendicitis. I only asked Dr. Almeida to administer the Smart Blood because Bond wasn't likely to question an intravenous injection coming from a physician. I told Dr. Almeida what it was, of course, since I knew he wasn't likely to agree to it otherwise." Q ducked his head briefly. If he wasn't clearly still worried about weathering Tiago's wrath, it could almost have been from embarrassment. "And I might have told him, ah, that Bond was a bit of a flight risk."

"A flight risk," Tiago repeated, deceptively calmly, but he never took his narrowed eyes off Q's face.

"Well, the crazy blighter was obviously _born_ a flight risk," Q snapped back immediately, clearly frustrated by Bond's mostly self-inflicted predicament as well. "He was probably a right terror as a toddler, wandering off alone into all sorts of dangerous situations once he learned to walk. But unlike _normal_ people, he never bloody well grew out of it," Q added, looking up at him indignantly. "You can't tell me that Dr. Almeida, at least, hasn't recognized that fact. He's a pediatrician, for God's sake."

Despite himself, and this whole fucked up situation, Tiago grinned, although he knew it made him appear more insanely manic than amused. However, Diego had indeed informed him, on numerous occasions, that his specialty was rather fortuitous considering what he was forced to endure between the two of them. 

He sobered quickly, however, when he came to another uncomfortable realisation. "The tracking program relies on a satellite up-link, of course."

Q nodded his confirmation. "And I assume your back-up power here is limited?"

"Yes," Tiago said tersely.

"I was afraid of that," Q said, "so I've downloaded a much smaller version of the program into my laptop. Unfortunately, it won't have anywhere near the range of _this_ ," he said, indicating the terminal linked to the supercomputer.

"What sort of range _does_ it have then?" Tiago snapped back.

Q winced. "I've never tested it, of course, but perhaps . . . ten kilometers or so?"

Tiago swore. "Then we best find James before Blofeld does. If he takes James out of the country, it might take me _days_ to locate him. I don't know how long it will take to restore power, or the computer network."

Q was staring at him intently. "Blofeld?" he asked pointedly.

Tiago paused, reluctantly impressed by Q's unwavering courage to continue questioning him, regardless of the potential . . . consequences. But then, he had already demonstrated this trait by following Bond here in the first place, knowing full well Tiago's rather checkered past, and also knowing that he had no chance of actually claiming Bond as his own. Tiago knew he wasn't the only one infatuated with Bond, nor did he apparently hold a monopoly on the intense frustration generated by that infatuation, especially given Bond's tendency to place himself repeatedly in the line of fire.

He debated briefly with himself, but in the end decided it wouldn't hurt to share the information with Q. Besides, he _still_ wasn't certain he'd allow the man to continue breathing after James was safely back at his side. 

Call it a character flaw, if you must, but he had never tolerated betrayal exceptionally well.

"He calls himself Ernst Stavros Blofeld," Tiago said finally, staring Q directly in the eyes. "He's the head of an international organisation whose criminal activities are so malevolent and widespread that they make the Italian Mafia look like a knitting circle."

Q seemed to blanch slightly, but nodded his comprehension. "And this man's after Bond, why exactly? I assume 007's interfered with their activities somewhat in the course of his duties?"

Tiago paused again. "Reverse that last statement, and you'll be closer to the mark." 

At Q's puzzled look, Tiago continued, "Blofeld has been interfering with James' life, by way of systematically killing off his lovers, for years."

Q's eyes unfocussed slightly as he processed this, but it was quite clear from the pensive look on his face that he'd made an intensive study of Bond's past history. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then said, "I've always wondered why Bond had such atrocious luck when it came to his romantic interests." He replaced his glasses and added, "But if that's been Blofeld's pattern in the past, why hasn't he targeted _you_ , instead of Bond?" 

Tiago raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, I'm sure he plans to dispose of me as well, but if I had to hazard a guess as to why he's decided to capture James _first_ , I'd say it's because I'm the only _male_ lover James has ever had."

"What has that got to do with anything?" Q replied, obviously not comprehending Tiago's train of thought. "If he's that homophobic, he'd just kill both of you."

"Oh, I don't think he's homophobic at all. Far from it." Tiago tsked sharply, annoyed at Q's slow-witted incomprehension. "Blofeld's real name is Franz Oberhauser, and when James was orphaned at eleven years old, he became James' foster brother. More significantly, by all the records I've been able to obtain in the last few hours, the boys were apparently inseparable."

Tiago watched Q's expression carefully, but this was obviously information he hadn't heard before, so at least Bond hadn't confided any of this to Q either. 

"In fact," Tiago added, "the two became so incredibly close over the years that the Oberhausers habitually referred to James as ' _Kleinen Schatten_ ', or 'Little Shadow.'" 

_Now_ he saw the dawning comprehension in Q's eyes.

Tiago said, "Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, but it sounds to me like _somebody_ might have been just a teensy bit obsessed." He sat back, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. "But then, what would _I_ possibly know about obsession, hmm?"

Q looked at him with something like horror, but Tiago only smiled darkly at him. And if it was actually Raoul Silva's smile on his face, what of it?

As Horatio Nelson once said, 'Desperate affairs require desperate measures,' and regardless of Raoul's occasional . . . stability issues, he'd always done _exceptionally_ well when employing desperate measures of his own.

Of course, there was typically some minor collateral damage along the way, but at this point, he really didn't fucking care.

Someone was trying to steal his little rat, and that was something he would absolutely _not_ allow.

*****************************

As the helicopter began to lose altitude in preparation for landing, James threw his legs over the side of the stretcher and sat up. 

Diego shook his head, but he knew that at some point he would have to follow James' lead, regardless of what he felt the _medical_ situation required. For one thing, they still needed to evade Tiago's guards at some point, although Diego was certain this would be easier once they had actually reached the clinic.

James looked out the window and then turned to face him, obviously puzzled. "I thought we would be landing directly at a hospital," he said.

Shaking his head, Diego said, "None of the hospitals in Lima have a helipad, and there are only five in the city proper. Two are at hotels, one at a bank, yet another at a petroleum company, and the last is here at the international airport," Diego replied, shrugging his shoulders. "When there is some type of medical emergency on the island, we contact the _Clinica San Gabriel_ here in Lima and have them send their private ambulance to meet us at the airport. The clinic is only a few blocks from here."

James looked even more puzzled, if that were possible. "A clinic, not a hospital?"

Diego sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "When at all feasible, it is best to avoid the government-run hospitals here. They are generally understaffed, under-supplied, and the medical care is . . . problematical at best." He looked out the window as the helicopter circled toward the helipad. "Those who can afford it go to one of the modernized, privately run clinics. They are more likely to survive the experience."

"And those who can't afford it?"

Diego paused before answering. The numbers had always depressed him, regardless of what little he could do about it personally. "In the poorer districts of northern Lima, there are three government-run hospitals, totaling 900 beds." He exhaled slowly. "The total population served by these three hospitals is approximately 2.75 million."

Bond's eyes widened. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath.

" _Si_ ", Diego replied sadly. "When Tiago and I first met, I was struggling to serve some of these people with my own clinic. These people are proud and determined, but when I received any payment at all, it was usually in the form of livestock." He glanced over at James, his lips quirking upwards. "Chickens, mostly."

"I take it you became very fond of chicken soup."

"Actually," Diego replied, smiling in spite of himself. "I am a vegetarian."

James snorted, shaking his head. "Of course you are."

Diego shook a finger at him. "And do not tell me this is why I am so short. I hear enough of that from Tiago."

"Wouldn't dream of it," James replied, but he was already focusing his attention toward the exterior of the helicopter. 

Looking over his shoulder, Diego noted with satisfaction that the clinic's ambulance was already approaching from the access road toward the helipad. At least _something_ was going according to plan.

The helicopter landed smoothly with barely a bump, but then, he knew Tiago would never dream of hiring an incompetent pilot. After a brief delay to complete his landing checklist, the pilot then taxied the helicopter a short distance to the nearest available parking berth, shutting off the engine. From past experience, Diego knew the pilot and one of the crew would then leave to arrange for refueling of the helicopter. Even here in the relative safety of the main airport, one never traveled alone in Lima if one could avoid it.

As the pilot and one of the crew disembarked and left for the petrol depot some distance away, Tiago's remaining two guards exited the aircraft to survey for possible threats. Thankfully, the helicopter apron was relatively clear today, with only one other craft in a parking berth. Given the open access hatches and parts scattered in that helicopter's general vicinity, it was not currently in operable condition, although no one appeared to be actively working on it. 

In fact, the approaching ambulance was the only thing Diego could see moving inside the barrier of the main aircraft runways and taxiways on the other side of the apron. 

He helped James rise from the improvised stretcher, but James merely shook his head in negation when Diego offered to assist him across the cabin. Although still pale, James was clearly in his element now, alert but not tense, and since he gave no indication that he intended to elude Tiago's guards at this point in time, Diego relaxed somewhat. James must be planning on waiting until they arrived at the clinic, after all.

As they stepped down from the helicopter, and with Tiago's men now out of earshot, James looked back wistfully at the helicopter. "I wish I had time to disable it," James said.

At Diego's confused look, he added, "It will buy us some time. Once Tiago's men realise we're missing, Tiago will recall the helicopter immediately."

"He does have other helicopters, James."

"Yes, I know," he replied, "but they're some distance up the coast. It will take him longer to make the trip back to Lima." James sighed. "With Tiago on my tail, I'll need every advantage I can get."

"You make this sound like a military operation against an enemy," Diego chided softly, somewhat disconcerted at this reply.

James looked down at him grimly. "In my experience, you have to treat every operation like it's a hostile op, or you're not likely to succeed." He paused. "I prefer to succeed."

After a few minutes, the ambulance arrived, stopping the required minimal distance from the helicopter, and then the two attendants exited the vehicle to remove the stretcher from the rear.

One of Tiago's men disappeared behind the rear doors, evidently to check the interior of the vehicle, then stood some distance away to keep an eye on the nearest taxiway and its sporadic airplane traffic. 

Diego started toward the ambulance, but he stopped and turned around when James did not follow him. "Do you want to wait here for the stretcher instead, James?" he asked. 

James certainly had not required the use of the stretcher when they left the island, but perhaps he was beginning to feel poorly again? Diego eyed the man carefully, but he did not appear to be in any manner indisposed. In fact, he was alert and standing easily upright, clearly focused on the activity behind the ambulance. 

"Diego, is this ambulance government-owned, like the hospitals you mentioned?"

Glancing over at the vehicle, Diego said, "No, the government's ambulance service is as unreliable as its medical facilities." He indicated the name written clearly on the side of the door. "This is one of the clinic's vehicles. They supply their own personnel, and they are as highly trained as their other staff."

"For trained professionals, they seem to be having an extremely difficult time getting the stretcher out of the ambulance and unfolded," James said, then held up a hand for silence, listening intently. 

Diego could not make out any of the crew's conversation, but James suddenly stiffened. "And for some odd reason, they're speaking Italian." He made an aborted move toward his waist for a gun that was obviously not there, swearing softly. He then grabbed Diego's arm, leading him back toward the helicopter. Making eye contact with Tiago's other guard, James jerked his chin toward the rear of the ambulance. 

The guard nodded firmly in agreement. Although he could not have heard the crew's conversation from his current position next to the ambulance's still running engine, he was clearly disturbed about the unexpected delay, just as James had been. But then, Tiago did not make a habit of employing idiots. The guard slipped a hand inside his jacket and removed his pistol, cautiously approaching the rear of the ambulance. 

James had already pulled Diego around the front of the helicopter, which was the furthest point away from the ambulance, when a flurry of gunshots erupted from the rear of that vehicle. Cursing, James pushed him down to crouch behind the minimal cover of the helicopter's fuselage as yet another spate of gunfire and shouts shattered the air. 

Diego crouched down further, attempting to see what was going on from beneath the helicopter, when he saw Tiago's guard shoot one of the now armed ambulance men before he himself was taken down, whirling in a half-circle and sprawling on the ground. Diego instinctively rose to render assistance until James pushed him back down again, growling, "Stay here!" 

Diego reluctantly obeyed, one hand curling into a fist in his frustration, but he also knew he would be of no use to James, or anyone else, if he were shot himself.

James stood up suddenly and opened the pilot's door of the helicopter, scrambling half inside before he slid back down, grasping what appeared to be a flare gun, of all things.

Motioning to Diego to remain where he was, James crept alongside the helicopter's fuselage while the ambulance crewmember and Tiago's remaining guard traded shots back and forth. James had almost reached the rear of the helicopter when he suddenly swung his gaze upward and to his right, then ducked beneath the tail rotor as another shot rang out, the bullet ricocheting off the fuselage where James had been standing moments before.

Even Diego, with his minimal experience with guns, could tell this was a different caliber and coming from an entirely different direction than their assailants from the ambulance.

Crouching, James aimed his flare gun at a nearby hanger's roof top, but a sudden salvo of shots from that direction had him retreating rapidly halfway beneath the relative cover of the helicopter. Obviously pinned down, and without a suitable weapon for retaliation anyway, he instead fired the flare gun directly into the sky overhead. 

Diego nodded his head in approval. If the airport's emergency personnel had any doubts about the location of the gunshots, they would certainly have none now. Unfortunately, the airport was huge, also understaffed, and it would still take some time for help to arrive. 

Tiago's one remaining guard evidently knew this as well. He called out in Spanish, "Run. I will cover you." He then came out from behind the dubious protection of the front of the ambulance and fired in the direction of the hanger's roof. Before the sound of the first shot had even faded, James grabbed Diego by his arm, pulling him away from their helicopter at an oblique angle, evidently heading for the other helicopter a little further down the apron. 

Diego heard Tiago's guard cursing loudly, which was then cut ominously short by another gunshot. By this time, however, he and James had almost reached their goal. Racing behind the tail rotor, they stopped midway down the fuselage, at which time Diego spotted something rolling toward them from beneath the partially disassembled helicopter. He instinctively kicked it back the direction it had come, only realising after he had done so that it had looked suspiciously like a grenade.

"Shit," he heard James say, right before he shoved Diego to the ground and covered him with his own body. There was a sharp retort of an explosion followed shortly thereafter by a much larger one, and Diego looked out from beneath James' covering arm to see their own helicopter exploding into an impressive fireball as debris hit the ground around them in a wide swath. Either Tiago was illegally keeping ordinance in the helicopter again, or the grenade had detonated its fuel tank.

Regardless, the explosion of the helicopter had evidently taken out their last attacker on the ground, because there were no follow-up shots from that direction.

James heaved himself up, moved to the front of the helicopter, and peered around the fuselage. He must have come to the same conclusion, because he returned quickly and assisted Diego up from his sprawled position. 

Diego could hear the sirens in the distance, as yet another smaller explosion erupted behind them. 

"Are you all right, Diego?" James asked.

" _Si_ ," Diego replied shakily. "The other shooter?" he asked, looking nervously around them.

"If he's got any sense, he's already gone. We're out of his direct line of fire here, and the rescue vehicles will be here shortly." James peered around the helicopter again, wincing slightly at the extensive carnage beyond.

"I said I wanted to _disable_ our helicopter, Diego, not obliterate it," he said, his own voice enviously calm.

" _Dios_ , James! I did not do it on _purpose_ ," Diego said, his whole body seeming to shake now with delayed reaction.

James had the nerve to turn and grin at him. "That's even better then. Congratulations. You're obviously a natural."

Diego had the strangest urge to make a rude gesture in reply, something he had not done since he was a teenager. James was proving to be even more of a bad influence than Tiago. 

But then, Diego had not been in such a stressful situation since his own encounter with the _firmas_ many years ago. And while he had never imagined that his years spent playing football at University would have such practical benefits, Diego doubted he would ever have the courage to kick a grenade again, knowing the outcome could have been so much horribly worse.

Shaking himself free of these morbid thoughts, Diego moved to check on the condition of Tiago's guards, but James again grabbed his arm. 

"No, Diego. They're both gone." He nodded solemnly at Diego's questioning look. "Yes, I'm certain, and we need to be out of here before the pilot and Tiago's remaining guard return."

Looking around, but not seeing any vehicle that was currently in drivable condition, Diego said, "And how do you propose we do that?"

James jerked his chin in the direction of the perimeter of the airport, which was encircled on this side by a tall concrete block wall. Even from this distance away, and obscured by the billowing smoke from the still burning helicopter, Diego could tell the wall was topped by an impressive amount of wicked-appearing barbed wire.

Eyes widening, Diego gave James an incredulous look.

"So, how are your wall climbing skills, Diego?"

Diego glared at him briefly, then sighed, already resigned to the inevitable. "And if I say, 'practically nonexistent'?"

"Then I'd say you get to stay here and explain to Tiago where I've gone." James did not even wait for Diego to reply. Disappearing briefly behind the helicopter, he returned with one of the abandoned guns in his hand, then started jogging toward the wall, not even once looking back.

The sirens were already much closer. After a brief pause, Diego shook his head and followed after James. He glanced briefly skyward as he ran, offering a heartfelt prayer to St Jude. 

After all, he had sworn to return this man to Tiago, relatively intact, and if _that_ was not a task suitable for the patron saint of lost causes, then nothing was. 

_Ay._ And he had thought finishing medical school was an impossible task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for keeping this short. I'm already at almost 40,000 words, and I'm hoping the relative lack of public outcry means I haven't totally messed up yet. However, Diego is probably going to need a psychiatrist himself before all is said and done.


	10. Chapter 10

"You _think_ they're gone? Oh, for the love of . . . go back _right now_ and make sure!"

 _Maldita sea!_

Tiago had to force himself to lesson the grip on his phone for fear of crushing the case, at least until he was assured that none of the bodies his men had found sprawled around the burned out helicopter were James or Diego. 

On his way to the main computer room, with Q close at his heels, Tiago unconsciously increased his agitated pace while he waited for his men to finish surveying the scene, encumbered as they were by the arrival of the airport's emergency personnel. It seemed to take hours, not minutes, for them to complete that all-important task. 

Finally, his pilot reported that although one body had been severely burned and was otherwise unidentifiable, the remnants of the man's uniform ruled out the possibility that it was James or Diego.

Upon receiving that encouraging information, Tiago released the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

As he listened to his pilot recount what they had found at the scene of the helipad, however, he couldn't make the information add up. Even without the evidence of outside involvement, he knew _James_ couldn't have been responsible for that particular debacle. He sparred with Tiago's men, trained with them, and he would never consider killing them. Not at this point. Disable, possibly, if he were desperate enough, but nothing even remotely this permanent.

No. Tiago's men were now _James'_ men as well, and his little rat was nothing if not annoyingly loyal.

However, it didn't make sense that Blofeld had been behind the attack either. There were no witnesses to the attack, but it was absurdly apparent they hadn't sent enough men to merely _capture_ James, even if they had known how ill he was. Granted, Tiago suspected that James had faked the appendicitis given the suspicious timing of its onset, but there was no way in hell he had not taken ill from _something._ Even for a trained agent, there was no counterfeiting _that_ degree of incapacitation.

Tiago grimaced. He knew from his own painful experience that a wounded agent could be even more formidable than a healthy one, if pressed hard enough. Blofeld knew _exactly_ how dangerous James could be, given his familiarity with James and his career, so why had the man underestimated James so badly?

Well, _someone_ had certainly dangled Sciarra in front of James as bait, and he couldn't imagine it would be anyone _but_ Blofeld. 

He felt a sudden chill pass through him. Perhaps he had misjudged Blofeld's motivations then? Had he decided to simply eliminate James now, instead of merely claiming him as his own?

If so, Tiago had even less time than he'd thought to get to him.

With that disquieting thought in the forefront of his mind, Tiago didn't need the unwelcome news from his pilot that the helicopter was unsalvageable. "I don't care what you have to do -- _steal_ one, at fucking gunpoint if you have to -- but get back to the island as soon as possible!" He ended the call without waiting for a reply from the decidedly flustered man.

Cursing the added delay, Tiago had just walked into the computer room when the emergency lights flickered ominously. 

Q glanced overhead as they shut the door behind them. "You have to shut down the Cray?"

"Yes," Tiago said tersely. "The computer itself is relatively energy efficient, but the cooling tower and chillers require too much power. If I shut down the entire system, I can increase the length of time for emergency power to the rest of the compound significantly." He took a moment to glare at Q again. "I can't leave the island completely defenceless, in the unlikely event that I _can_ manage to get James back here in one piece." 

Q wisely remained silent.

Tiago began the shut-down procedure, which thankfully did not take nearly as much time as booting the system required. He'd have to get a new keyboard after he had finished, however, since his anger and frustration had to be directed _somewhere_. "I don't even know how the _pendejo_ managed to cut the power in the first place," he muttered under his breath.

Q tentatively cleared his throat. "You think it was Blofeld?"

Slamming another key into tacit submission, Tiago said, "Who the hell else? The timing was too fucking convenient to have been anything natural, and we haven't had a seismic event significant enough to cause it, in any case." Tiago shook his head, angry at himself for obviously not considering all the possibilities. " _Mierda._ Even at the cable's most vulnerable point in the trench, it _should_ have required a blast the size of a nuclear detonation to disrupt it."

Q draw in a sharp breath, followed immediately by, "Oh, bloody hell."

Tiago turned around to stare at him. "What is it?" he snapped.

Q's face had drained almost completely of colour. "How big a yield are we talking about here?"

Tiago stood and loomed over Q, backing him against a desk. " _What is it?_ " he repeated ominously.

"Ah," Q began but was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. His eyes wide, Q said, "I should probably get that." He glanced down at the screen. "She'll only keep calling until I pick up. And if I don't answer, you'll probably be the next on her list, and I assume you'd prefer to remain officially 'dead' . . ?"

"Why the hell not?" Tiago replied sarcastically. "Be my guest. You can update your life insurance beneficiaries while you're at it."

Taking a deep breath, Q answered the call with, "Yes, ma'am?"

He winced at the apparent reply, but then said, "CTBTO? Yes, ma'am, I know what it stands for. Comprehensive Test-Ban-Treaty Organisation. They track international nuclear weapon testing using seismic and hydroacoustic monitoring stations."

Eyes widening, Q listened for a few minutes, gradually moving the phone away from his ear as apparently M's volume increased. "No, ma'am, I can virtually guarantee that no retired or deceased agents of MI6 had anything to do with detonating a nuclear weapon in the Atacama Trench off the coast of Peru."

Wincing again, Q said, "Yes, Ma'am. If I _should_ happen to encounter any retired or deceased agents of MI6, I'll let them know what you said." He paused again, listening intently. "Yes, ma'am. 'Word for bloody word.' I quite understand."

Q rang off, took a deep breath, then looked up warily at Tiago. "I assume you'd like to know what that was about?"

"Oh, by all means," Tiago said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I have such a puerile curiosity about the most _trivial_ things."

Q closed his eyes, then slowly reopened them. "While I was monitoring the flash traffic, I came across a message from the Americans, mentioning that they had 'misplaced' a low yield nuclear warhead prototype."

Tiago frowned. "And why did _I_ not know about this?"

"Uhm. A regrettable oversight on my part?"

Tiago did not need a mirror to know he had a murderous expression on his face. 

Q swallowed hard. "An _unforgivable_ oversight on my part, then?"

Leaning into his personal space, Tiago said merely, "Thanks to you, I did not have access to information that might have changed how I handled this situation. Which do _you_ think is the correct answer?"

Straightening his spine against the weight of Tiago's glare, Q said, "Look, Rodriguez. I know I screwed up, and Bond is undoubtedly the resident expert at that, but _none_ of us could have predicted it would go all to pot so spectacularly." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "We both want to get Bond back in one piece, so I'll make you a deal. Once we actually manage to _accomplish_ that, you can do whatever you want to me afterwards."

Tiago conceded Q's point as far as getting James back safely. After that, all bets were indeed off. 

"You're quite right, Q," he said sweetly. "I most certainly will." 

**************************************

"We are going to steal a lorry?" Diego asked incredulously, as he followed James toward the looming vehicle, only limping slightly after his less than graceful descent from the barrier wall.

At least he had managed to land on his feet. 

More or less.

"We're going to _appropriate_ a lorry, Diego," James said, stepping up into the cab. "The word you're looking for there is 'appropriate.'"

Crossing his arms and glaring up at him, Diego said, " _Lo siento_ , my English is obviously substandard. However, I was quite certain the proper word was 'steal.'"

Grinning, James said, "I realize it's a fine distinction, but if you spend enough time with me, you'll find your English improving by leaps and bounds." He jerked his head toward the other side of the cab. "C'mon, Diego. The Lord of Miracles procession will have already started. We need to get across town quickly without drawing further attention to ourselves."

Shaking his head, but having already admitted defeat, Diego climbed into the passenger side of the vehicle. "I fail to comprehend how driving a _lorry_ will accomplish that."

James already had his head beneath the fascia, twisting two wires together. He had obviously 'appropriated' a vehicle before, as the big engine turned over immediately with a throaty roar.

Sliding back behind the wheel, James adjusted the mirrors, then said, "A lorry may be noticeable, but it's nonetheless a common, everyday sight. However, anyone who's attempting to track us will not expect something this size." He shrugged. "You just have to drive like a regular lorry driver and remain inconspicuous."

"Indeed? As in maintaining a safe, legal speed and _not_ operating the vehicle recklessly?" Diego shook his head ruefully. "Alas. We are doomed to failure then, for such an astonishing feat is surely impossible for you."

Grinning at him, James said, "You wound me, Diego, you truly do." He backed the vehicle slightly, waiting for a passing vehicle on the otherwise nearly deserted access road. He shook his head. "I only wish I knew what this Sciarra _looked_ like. I'd rather not wait until someone starts shooting at us again to locate him."

Sighing deeply, Diego reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Here, James. Q said you would probably need this."

Unfolding the paper, Bond looked down at the grainy photograph of a tall, older man with grey hair, and then looked over at Diego, obviously puzzled.

"You've spoken to Q?" 

Diego said, "He stopped me in the corridor. For some reason, he seemed rather reluctant to risk encountering Tiago and asked me to give you this." He shrugged. "Although, since I assume it was Q who was responsible for your newly acquired ability to evade Tiago's surveillance, I now understand why he would wish to evade him." Sighing deeply, he added, "And to think I had assumed Q was the _sensible_ one."

Ignoring his comment, and apparently quite pleased with his new acquisition, James said, "Things are definitely looking up. We may be searching for a needle in a haystack, but at least now we know what the needle _looks_ like."

Diego eyed him dubiously. "I am relieved you are so confident. I, however, have difficulty finding the needle in my _suture kit_."

"Don't worry, Diego. Trouble usually finds me with no additional effort on my part. We'll be fine." 

"That, _amigo_ , is _exactly_ what I am afraid of." 

When the access road was finally clear, James pulled out slowly, grinding at least two gears in the process. 

Diego winced as the lorry lurched ahead erratically, nearly stalling several times. "You have never driven a lorry before, James?"

The man in question shrugged. "I have, many times. Just a bit rusty, is all." 

Finally managing to pick up some speed, they clipped a sign post turning a corner, the lorry shuddering violently as it bounced over the kerb, flattening an innocent waste receptacle in the process.

" _Ay_ , 'inconspicuous', he says." Diego gripped the door frame harder as they jolted to an abrupt stop at the intersection. "Like a flamenco dancer in a funeral procession."

James merely smiled at him, then pulled out onto the busy avenue, easily and flawlessly shifting gears, and Diego knew he had been well and truly played.

He glared at the man. "You are enjoying yourself far too much, _jovencito_."

"Not accustomed to having an audience, I guess."

Diego wagged a finger at him. "No, you are simply trying to 'scare me off', I believe is the correct phrase."

James looked over at him briefly, raising an eyebrow. "Is it working?"

"I have lived with Tiago Rodriguez for more than a dozen years. What do you think?"

Blanching slightly, James said, "I think I'll have to try harder."

"Much harder, my friend. Much, _much_ harder."

**************************************

Q heard Rodriguez swear as he rang off his phone. 

At Q's questioning eyebrow, he said, "Apparently, the helicopters I had stationed in the cities of Cimbote and Ica, located north and south of Lima, are currently inoperable."

"Time to fire the maintenance staff?" Q winced at the baleful glare he received. "Sorry, I tend to babble under stress. Not that I'm under any particular stress right now, mind you." He sighed when he received yet another withering glare. "I assume they've both been sabotaged?"

"Yes," Rodriguez said tersely. 

"What about recalling the supply ship?"

Rodriguez merely shook his head angrily. "Too slow. I have to get to Lima _now_." He seemed to debate something with himself, then added, "Blofeld obviously had someone waiting at the airport for James, but he didn't send enough men to _capture_ him."

Q felt all the blood drain from his face. "What, then? You think he wants to _kill_ Bond?"

"I don't _know_ ," Rodriguez spat. "It doesn't make any sense. He's had plenty of opportunities to do that over the years. Besides, if he intended just to kill him, why demand in his letter that I give James back to him? _That_ would only succeed in warning me."

" _What_ letter?" Q asked tightly.

Rodriguez waved a hand dismissively. "Gold embossed letterhead, obscenely expensive, addressed like a wedding invitation, but stating, 'Be a good boy and give him back please?'"

Q had always considered himself a rather non-violent man, but right now, he could quite gleefully punch Rodriguez. "You _knew_ this man was after 007, and you didn't bother to _share_ that information?" He stood and glared at him. "You think I would have helped Bond with his harebrained plan if I knew some psychotic megalomaniac was after him?" He threw his hands in the air. "Well, someone _other_ than you, of course!"

Rodriguez merely stared at him coldly. "It wasn't information either one of you needed to know. I am quite capable of protecting James on my own."

"Obviously," Q snapped. "Which is why we're both sitting here, in the dark, waiting for our fairy godmother to supply us with a bloody flying pumpkin!"

Standing abruptly, Rodriguez stood close enough to intimidate, then said darkly, "Do not presume to push me too far. James is _mine._ "

_Oh, really?_

Worried sick about Bond and having had an all-round beastly day, Q decided he'd had quite enough. It might not be conducive to a long life expectancy, but he had absolutely no desire to back down at this point. 

"You see, Rodriguez, that's where you've got it all wrong. Bond doesn't belong to you because _you_ say so. He belongs to you because he _wants_ to, and if you try to force him to remain at your side, you'll merely drive him away."

"And you've come to that conclusion, how exactly?" Rodriguez snarled.

"You mean, other than the fact you've _already_ succeeded in accomplishing just that?"

If he hadn't been standing so close to the man, he would have missed it, but Rodriguez flinched. He definitely _flinched._

Q stared for a few moments, then rubbed his face, exasperated. "Look. Bond clearly has no bloody taste, but for some unfathomable reason, he does indeed _love_ you. However, if you don't start treating him more like an equal and less like my barmy Aunt Matilda's prized Ming Dynasty vase, I wouldn't be surprised if that changes. _Permanently_." 

Amazingly, Rodriguez neither punched him nor responded with his trademark sarcastic reply . . . which heavily implied, of course, that the world was coming to an end.

_Oh, bother. Just my bloody luck._

At his employer's continued silence, Q sighed and said, "All right then. Since M refuses to write obituaries anymore, I'm going back to my suite and start on mine. Just in case." Side-stepping around Rodriguez's eerily immobile form, he headed for the doorway. 

Pausing briefly, he added, "Do give me a ring if the fairy godmother deigns to make an appearance, would you?"

He didn't look back, but he'd never been quite so disturbed to have the last word before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up regarding updates for anyone still reading this. I've signed up for the Yuletide writing exchange this year, so depending on my assignment, there may be delays in getting future chapters of this story posted. I'm going to _attempt_ to work on both projects, but this will depend on my Real Life work schedule and hubby's ongoing health issues. 
> 
> My apologies to those wonderful folks who have left kudos and comments, and I will certainly make every effort not to disappoint!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. I know I said it was pretty much a non-stop angst fest for the rest of the fic, but frankly, Real Life totally sucks right now, so I had to add just a tiny bit of humor to get me through the process of writing this.

"James?"

"Yes, Diego?"

"Why have we parked on the pavement?" 

"Because no one was walking on it when we got here?" 

Sighing, Diego said, "I knew there must be a good reason." He stared outside the windscreen at the crowd of people gathering for the procession, none of whom gave the illegally parked lorry as much as a second glance, then shook his head. "Actually, I am not sure why I even asked."

Expecting a sarcastic reply and not receiving one, he looked over to find James resting his forehead on the steering wheel.

"James?" he asked tensely, concerned. He had learned very quickly that James, like Tiago, hated to display any form of weakness, even to those who were closest to him.

Straightening in his seat, James looked over at him and said, "I'm fine, Diego. It comes and goes."

"It is the 'coming' part that I am concerned about. I did mention that you were in no way out of danger, did I not?"

"I've lived with worse," James said, opening the door and climbing down from the cab. "Let's go. We have a lot of ground to cover."

Grabbing his medical bag, Diego hurried around the front of the lorry, holding out a hand against James' chest when he would have walked past him into the crowd.

"I would like to examine you first, James."

Shaking his head, James replied, "We don't have time for that at the moment."

"And should you collapse, we would have time to find a clinic to treat you?"

"That's not going to happen, Diego." Sidestepping around him, James again strode purposefully toward the crowd, not once looking back.

Diego muttered to himself, "I believe that is the first thing we have agreed upon all day, _jovencito._ "

Insuring that the manual activator was still set at a relatively low setting, Diego engaged it briefly, causing James to yelp in surprise and go down abruptly to one knee. 

Looking back at him balefully, James wisely remained where he was until Diego walked over and stretched out a hand to help him up. He then guided James toward the lorry with a hand on the small of his back. 

He would normally have avoided touching James in such a manner if Tiago were in the vicinity, given the man's extreme level of possessiveness toward this one, but Diego had always functioned better as a physician when he had actual contact with his patients.

Besides, what Tiago did not know, would not hurt him.

With a hand on James’ shoulder, he indicated firmly that he should sit on the running board of the lorry. After making sure the stubborn man would actually _remain_ there, at least for a few moments, Diego pulled the stethoscope out of his bag.

However, he found he could accomplish nothing more after that, since James had evidently decided to be obstructive. Fortunately for Diego's _own_ blood pressure, he was not particularly surprised at this development.

"It would be easier to listen to your chest without your arms crossed over it, James."

When James merely glared up at him resentfully and made no move to lower his arms, Diego sighed. 

He was reluctant to use the activator again so soon, especially since it might influence the results of his tests, so Diego decided he would simply treat James like one of his _usual_ patients. Since it was foolish to expect logical reasoning to succeed with a five-year-old, he had long ago perfected alternate methods of persuasion. 

He felt it was worth a try, regardless of this particular child's _actual_ age.

"I did not bring any sweets with me, James, but if necessary, I can obtain something from one of the street vendors. I believe you would enjoy _Turrόn de Doña Pepa_ , an anise-flavoured treat, that is traditionally served during this festival."

When James looked up at him incredulously, Diego raised an eyebrow and said, "Yes, I am resorting to bribery, but it has worked for me before, especially with Tiago. Since you are both the same emotional age, I was hopeful it would work with you as well."

Shaking his head, James nevertheless uncrossed his arms and allowed Diego access. "I wish I had known that earlier," James said in an undertone.

"What? That I would resort to bribery with sweets, or that it had worked with Tiago?"

Giving him an exasperated look, James replied, "That it had worked with Tiago, of course. When I first met the man, I could have used all the help I could get."

"I believe it is more important to reserve that knowledge for later use, eh?" He paused significantly. "Say, for example, when Tiago finally catches up with you?"

He heard James draw in a steadying breath in response, but Diego felt no remorse for apparently unsettling the man. After all, he had _told_ James this expedition was exceptionally unwise.

Placing the stethoscope against James' chest, and attempting to tune out the noise of the excited crowd around them, Diego noted that his pulse was still strong and regular, although a little faster than his baseline rate. His temperature was also slightly elevated when he checked it, but fortunately, nothing that demanded aggressive treatment.

Just to be safe, however, Diego reached into his bag for another charcoal pill and a small bottle of water, then handed both to James. "Take this, James. As I had feared, the poison is not entirely out of your system yet."

"Damn. I should have settled for the sweets." James nonetheless took the pill and swallowed it without further argument. "You have a rotten bedside manner, Diego," he added, jerking his chin toward the activator on Diego's wrist.

"Actually, my bedside manner is quite acceptable, but since you are currently sitting on a _lorry_ and not on a bed, that unfortunately does not apply. _Lo siento._ "

"And here I thought Tiago was difficult to manipulate." James widened his eyes in mock entreaty. "Am I permitted to get up now, _Médico_ Almeida?"

Diego looked down at him sternly, but a small smile escaped nonetheless. He had grown entirely too fond of this one. " _Si, jovencito,_ since you have asked so very nicely."

With a relieved nod in reply, James stood and started back toward the crowd, then stopped and raised an inquiring eyebrow at Diego.

"Oh, I will follow _you_ ," Diego said, "since I have already informed you that my needle-finding skills are decidedly below average."

Shaking his head, James started off down the avenue, his gaze scanning the milling crowd in a casual yet methodical manner. The procession had not yet arrived in this part of the city, but the crowds were already very nearly impassable, a sea of milling humanity as far as the eye could see. And since neither he nor James were exceptionally tall men, it was even more difficult to scan the crowds efficiently. 

Especially since everywhere one looked, there was purple -- the processioners, the crowds, the streaming banners draped from balconies, even the knickknacks and souvenirs that filled the shop windows. When combined with the assorted vibrant colours of the brightly painted houses that were typical of the poorer sections in Lima, it was easy for one's eyes to be distracted from the tedious task of scanning individual faces. 

"I believe I shall be thoroughly tired of purple by the time we are finished here," Diego said.

Glancing over at him, James nodded. "Tiago had planned to bring me here, you know," he said, smiling wistfully. However, his eyes very quickly returned to scanning the crowd, as if the reminiscence was not _entirely_ a pleasant one.

"Did he now?" Diego was mildly surprised, to say the least, since he knew Tiago was not an especially religious man. "May I inquire as to why?"

Ducking his head slightly, James said, "He wanted to make an offering and ask for a miracle."

"A miracle?" Diego repeated, mystified. "What does Tiago deem so impossible to achieve that it would require a miracle to accomplish?"

James did not reply to the question.

"James?"

Shaking his head, James replied tersely, "Nothing. Nothing at all." He moved ahead briskly then, and it was quite apparent he would say no more on the subject, but he was twisting the ring on his finger, likely quite unconsciously. 

Diego was a patient man, however, and he knew he would acquire the information from one of them, at some point. If _Tiago_ was looking for a miracle, it would be wise to discover exactly what sort of miracle he was seeking. For _everyone's_ sake. When dealing with Tiago Rodriguez, he had learned long ago that forewarned was most definitely forearmed.

They searched through the ever-increasing crowds for nearly an hour before James pulled Diego aside into a tiny alcove that gave them at least a small degree of breathing space. The procession with the two-ton litter carried on the shoulders of the male _cargadores_ (carriers) had just turned onto the street they were currently canvassing. The extremely slow-moving litter was difficult to miss, as it was preceded by the sound of beating drums and billowing incense smoke. The incense burners were carried by a sizeable group of Catholic sisters, walking ahead of the litter and also adorned in the deep, solemn purple of the _El Señor de los Milagros_ procession. 

The ambient volume of the crowd increased dramatically at their arrival, calling out ecstatically, singing hymns and saying prayers.

James watched the approaching litter for a few moments, then shook his head. "The procession route is too long and covers far too large an area. Even with the significant number of people lining the route, disrupting it at any _one_ place wouldn't make a statement grandiose enough for a terrorist such as Sciarra. He'd look for a focal point." 

"A focal point?"

"Yes, if there isn't one specific point where the largest group of people would congregate, such as a stadium, he'd choose the location with the most cultural significance." James jerked his head toward the procession. "That isn't the actual Lord of Miracles painting on that litter, is it?"

Diego shook his head. "No, it is a replica. The original painting is part of an ancient adobe wall, and it is permanently housed as part of the main alter in the _Iglesia de las Nazarenas_ church."

James nodded firmly. "Then, that's where he'll go."

Horrified, Diego said, "He would destroy a _church_?"

"Diego, assuming it _is_ a low yield nuclear device he's intending to use, he's planning on killing thousands of people, at a minimum, so I doubt he's worried about how he'd accomplish it . . . or from where."

Diego merely nodded, feeling faintly sick. He could not understand how James dealt so calmly with situations like this on a regular basis. He had enough difficulty with the relatively _minor_ emergencies that the field of medicine entailed.

"I'm sorry, Diego," James said, obviously taking pity on him. "It may not have been Sciarra who was shooting at us from atop the airport's hanger, but regardless, we have to assume he _is_ here and plans to disrupt the festival. Since we don't know how much of a head start he has on us, we'll have to hurry."

Diego was _definitely_ too old for this.

Resigned to yet another mad dash after the determined James, Diego nevertheless decided he should make at least a token protest, for his own sanity's sake. "'Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished,'" he said wearily, quoting Lao Tzu.

Looking at him askance, James said, "Nature probably isn't planning on detonating a nuclear device in the middle of a city of eight million people either." 

*********************************

As if Tiago's life wasn't complicated enough at the moment, the Lord of Miracles festival was making it harder. All of the private helicopter firms in Lima as well as the outlying cities had been solidly booked, either ferrying people into Lima for the festival, or by the various local and international news agencies who were using the aircraft to film the procession. 

Unfortunately, it was rather difficult to steal a helicopter, even at gunpoint, if the useless thing was already in the _air_.

Which meant he had to _purchase_ a helicopter from outside the capital city and have it delivered to his pilot waiting in Lima. 

Of course, this required an additional, exceptionally large gratuity for expedition of the process, but it certainly wasn't the _money_ that Tiago regretted. No, it was the extra time it necessitated for retrieving his little rat. 

_Maldito_. At least Luis would be landing in Lima soon, as he suspected he would need his second's assistance, once he finally managed to _get_ to the mainland, that is, and accomplish what he very much needed to accomplish.

Drumming his fingers on the table as he waited for confirmation of the transaction, he unfortunately had plenty of time to reflect on the past few hectic weeks. He had not felt this frustrated by events out of his control for many, many years, and he had thought his life would be _perfect_ once he had acquired James.

And it _had_ been . . . at least, until Blofeld had come along and ruined everything.

His fingers stilled as an uncomfortable thought presented itself. What if he couldn't pin the blame entirely on his old nemesis? Was it possible Q was correct, and Tiago had simply _allowed_ Blofeld to disrupt his life through his own possessiveness and overreaction to the man's threat? 

_Had_ he, in fact, driven James away as Q had implied?

Tiago wasn't in the habit of second guessing his actions. As King Lear had said, 'O, that way madness lies,' especially given some of the reprehensible things he'd been responsible for in the past. However, he couldn't quite find an argument to refute Q's point, which disturbed him to no end. 

If he hadn't clung to James quite so tightly, would events have unfolded a little less chaotically?

 _Mierda._ There was a reason he detested these rare opportunities for reflection. 'What if's' were incredibly dangerous paths to tread. Besides, it really made no difference at this point. He had to get James back first, and only then would he consider any _possible_ benefits to modifying his behaviour in the future.

With that thought in mind, along with the confirmatory text message that the helicopter had arrived in Lima, Tiago headed for Q's suite to inform him that the fairy godmother had finally bestowed an estimated time of arrival. With this welcome news, as well as the unexpected opportunity to stabilise his temper, he was feeling _slightly_ less murderous toward Q -- especially now that he could actually _do_ something about retrieving his little rat.

Upon arriving at the door to Q's suite, Tiago was prepared to barge in unannounced, but at the last moment he remembered Q's beastly cats, so he settled on knocking instead. Well, _pounded_ was a more accurate term, but then, he was never at his most patient and unobtrusive when events had escalated out of his control. 

"Q!" he finally yelled, when there wasn't an immediate reply to his summons. 

"Coming!" was the response from behind the door. "I need a moment to distract the cats." There was a distinct pause. "Unless you actually _enjoyed_ the sensation of wearing one the last time?"

Tiago glared sullenly at the door. _My, oh my. Feeling a mite cheeky, are we?_

Since he absolutely required Q's assistance, however, he took a deep breath to get his temper under control, and replied reasonably calmly, "I've never been particularly fond of genuine fur coats, but I could possibly make an exception in this case."

 _Oops._ Apparently, making veiled threats had become somewhat of a bad habit for him, regardless of his original intentions.

He'd have to work on that.

When Q opened the door, he had a grim, determined expression on his face, and Tiago instinctively glanced downward to make sure he didn't have a knife in his hand. 

At this point, he wouldn't put anything past this surprisingly strong-willed young man.

When the glaring continued unabated, however, Tiago held up a hand in appeasement. "Relax, Q. I've never taken my anger out on a defenceless animal." He rolled his eyes. "Regardless of whether the animal in question is actually defenceless or not."

Q studied his face carefully, evidently attempting to judge his sincerity, but he eventually nodded once and allowed him through the door. 

Tiago surveyed the room quickly for any furry landmines lurking about, then cautiously followed him inside.

Having apparently noticed his hesitation, Q said, "I've lured them into the loo and shut the door, but they're not likely to remain there long once the tuna is gone, so you'd best make it quick." 

Evidently, Q was still a little miffed at him, which was fine. He could work with that. He was _accustomed_ to working with that.

Raising an ironic eyebrow, Tiago said, "The helicopter I ordered has arrived in Lima, and my pilot should already be on his way back to the island." He glanced at his watch, then added, "Once airborne, it should take him less than twenty minutes to get here." 

"Understood." Q seemed to relent a little at the news, his rigid posture relaxing somewhat, so he evidently was as relieved as Tiago to have the opportunity to get James back.

Tiago turned his head, noting with approval Q's laptop case already on a table by the door. He seemed to have his priorities in order, but it was best to make sure all contingencies were covered. "James has managed to evade tracking devices before. Do you have a spare battery for the computer, should it take me longer than expected to bring him to heel?"

"Interesting choice of words," Q replied with a slight frown, but he nodded his head. "Two spares, in fact. They're both in the case. I'm as ready as I can be, considering the fact I have to get into something that _flies_ instead of remaining in contact with the ground like a sensible mode of transportation."

"You're on an island, Q, there aren't that many alternatives."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that little fact. Don't worry. I'll do whatever it takes to get Bond back." 

Tiago considered Q's undeniable resolve for a few moments, then merely nodded once in affirmation. However, the young man was still staring at him uncomfortably, as if he wanted to add something else. " _Por Dios,_ Q," he said, rolling his eyes. "Just say what's on your mind, why don't you? I believe we have an agreement to suspend hostilities . . . temporarily at least."

Q hesitated for a few seconds, then finally said, "Right, then. I'm not going to admit I was wrong, mind you, but I _might_ have been a tad out of line with my comments earlier. I'm quite aware that Bond isn't the easiest man to manage." He took a deep breath. "So, I wanted to . . . apologise."

Significantly taken aback by this admission, Tiago instinctively attempted to redirect the conversation. "If you want to apologise to someone, it should probably be James. He's a little sensitive about his age, and he won't be at all pleased to discover you've compared him to a Ming Dynasty vase."

Q looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, the vase isn't actually all that old. I did mention my aunt was barmy, didn't I? Well, the only reason she thinks the bloody thing is Ming Dynasty is because it has 'Made in China' stamped on the bottom."

Despite himself, Tiago found his lips quirking upward. "So, you're comparing James to an _imitation_ Ming Dynasty vase. Is that supposed to be an improvement?"

Q hmphed loudly but stared him hard in the eyes. "Regardless of what I compare him to, Bond isn't in the least bit fragile, except for those irksome emotions he won't admit to having. At least, those regarding _you_."

Tiago considered this for quite some time, long enough that the young man began to fidget, but he finally said, "I'm not going to admit to being wrong either, Q, but I might consider your suggestion . . . at some point in the future."

Q's eyes widened in apparent shock, but their tentative detente was suddenly interrupted by a loud yowl followed by the sound of sharp claws on wood. Q immediately turned toward the commotion, but his cats had already somehow unlatched the door, and they both flew out of the loo, sprinting directly toward them. 

At least Tiago _thought_ they were Q's cats. _All_ of the hair on both creatures, not just their tails, was standing straight on end, making them appear for all the world like gigantic puffer fish with fur. 

And claws. Gigantic puffer fish with fur and _claws_.

Determined not to flinch, Tiago held his ground, but the cats ignored him completely, not even slowing down as they passed him. The big one jumped on the handle for the outside door, pulling the handle down, while the other leapt from a good meter away onto the door itself, pushing the now unlatched door open with his weight.

They were both out the door and had disappeared down the corridor before Tiago or Q could even move.

In the ensuing silence, Tiago said, "And you think _I'm_ crazy?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Your cats are insane."

Q was watching where they had disappeared with wide eyes. "No, not insane, they're _terrified_." He turned to look at Tiago worriedly. "And the smaller one, Morcile? He has the survival instincts of a kamikaze pilot with a terminal illness, so when he's actually _afraid_ of something, it's time to wonder why."

Tiago crossed his arms, not in the least bit impressed. "Last time I checked, there weren't any crocodiles in the sewer system, so what could have possibly scared them so damn badly in the _loo_?"

Q didn't reply, merely grabbing his laptop and hurrying out the door.

Tiago swore, but followed directly on his heels. The helicopter would be arriving shortly, and they needed to be topside regardless, waiting for it.

As Tiago caught up to him in the corridor, Q turned his head and said, "Normally when the cats break out of the suite, they'll disappear somewhere inside the compound. But this time, they're heading _outside_." He quickened his pace. "And I have a feeling it's _not_ just because Horatio was craving another rat."

Tiago kept pace with him, at a loss to understand why Q was so concerned about the actions of his _loco_ cats when they had much bigger problems on their hands.

Then he stopped abruptly in the corridor, narrowing his eyes.

"Wait a minute! When did I get _rats_ on my island?"

*********************************

James paused outside the gates of the _Iglesia de las Nazarenas_ church, scanning the grounds as well as the nearby streets, apparently examining the layout and its entrances and exits. The gates of the tall wrought iron fence were wide open, as they normally were during the month of the festival. As the sun slowly sank toward the west, the light reflected off the two massive bell towers on either side of the entranceway. Extending from the rooftop façade all the way to the ground was a pair of broad, purple and white striped banners. They bracketed the four granite Corinthian columns that formed the main entrance, which in turn framed a set of solid cedar doors, also open and beckoning the faithful inside.

There was a steady stream of men, women and a few children entering and exiting the building, most adorned with some vestige of purple, if only a scarf, vest or pendant.

Glancing over at him, James said, "I assumed most people would be lining the route to watch the procession."

Diego nodded. "Most do, but there is a Mass held every hour in the church during the month of the festival, and it is common for people to bring objects here to be blessed by the _padre_ in the name of the Lord of Miracles." He paused, still attempting to grasp the implications of James' theory. "You still think Sciarra would attempt to detonate a bomb here?" he said, indicating the crowded grounds in front of them.

"Yes," James said simply. "There's absolutely no security, and the crowds would only make it easier for him." He looked over at him, the faintest of smiles on his face. "You may not realise this, Diego, but chaos has _always_ been a friend to those planning nefarious deeds."

Knowing James was merely trying to keep his spirits up, Diego replied in kind. "As I assume you know very well, oh achiever of nefarious deeds." He shook a finger at him in warning. "Tiago has already told me you have utilised questionable methods in the past to accomplish your somewhat underhanded schemes."

James placed a hand solemnly across his chest. "I promise to remain firmly on the side of the angels this time out."

"That would be a wise thing, James, considering you are about to enter holy ground."

Diego followed James closely when they strode through the gates, crossing the gray paving stones of the grounds toward the ornate cedar doors framed in their stone archway. As James had mentioned, there was no security, and no one even gave them a second glance as they walked through the doors, crossed into the atrium beyond, and passed through another set of doors into the nave of the church itself. 

The church was brightly lit for the festival, the ornate carvings, pillars and alcoves reflecting the light in a myriad of colours. There were two sets of wooden pews in the center of the nave, with narrow aisles on either side. The actual painting of the Lord of Miracles was visible at the far end of the church, beneath a massive arched dome just behind the alter. It was framed by golden pilasters, and capped by brightly painted flaming urns and an ornate image of the Archangel Saint Michael overlooking the nave from its vantage point near the vaulted ceiling.

James' eyes took in none of the impressive architecture, however, as his attention was focused almost solely on the smaller doors leading off the nave, which likely led into the vestry of the church itself. 

How sad it must be, to enter such a magnificent building and have trained oneself only to investigate the hiding places and potential exits? No wonder James and Tiago were so suspicious of everything that moved . . . and even some things that did not.

And why they both thought _trust_ was such an appallingly unobtainable goal.

Diego walked toward the alter, stopping at the waist-high wooden bannister surrounding the chancel to pay his respects, and possibly even to request a miracle or two of his own. It certainly could not hurt, while he was here. He knelt, bowing his head reverently.

After making his own request of _Señor de los Milagros_ , Diego rose from his kneeling position and crossed himself, noting that James was still carefully perusing the endlessly shifting crowds. 

He glanced over at Diego as he rose to his feet, and Diego knew he had been waiting for him to complete his prayers, an accommodation for which he was supremely grateful. 

Apparently satisfied that there was no immediate danger, James walked over to stand next to him, glancing up at the painting curiously. 

As Diego turned his head to speak to James, however, he happened to notice a familiar figure just emerging from the vestry door a quarter of the way down the nave. His eyes widened. "James!" he said, his voice nearly strangled in his distress.

However, he did not need to say any more. James had noted the apprehension on Diego's face as well as the direction of his gaze, and shoved him violently over the bannister. James then started to spin around, reaching for his own gun at his waist, but it was already far too late. Inexplicably, the crowd had thinned just enough at this end of the nave that Sciarra had a clear shot.

Which he took without any apparent hesitation whatsoever.

As James dove for the floor, the gunshot reverberated within the cavernous confines of the sanctuary, and Diego heard James grunt in pain just before the crowd began screaming, running for the exit doors at the far end of the church. 

The terrorist shoved the few remaining straggling civilians out of his way and made a running jump onto one of the forward pews.

Diego could not see James from where he had landed behind the alter, but the slow smile that crept over the terrorist's face told him that James was either incapacitated or had somehow lost his own gun. The man took slow, careful aim, and it was quite clear he was planning on finishing what he had started.

"No!" Diego yelled, hoping to distract the man, if only for a second, as he rose quickly to his own feet. He knew he could accomplish nothing more than get himself killed as well, but he had promised to get James back to Tiago. 

He had _promised_.

The terrorist shifted both his gaze and his gun toward Diego when he stood, but apparently realising he was no immediate threat, he turned back toward James, and once again carefully aimed his weapon at the far more dangerous target.

Diego started forward, but before he could even approach the bannister, a single shot rang out, again echoing eerily beneath the vaulted ceiling of this most sacred of places.

Closing his eyes briefly in denial, Diego nonetheless leapt over the barrier, expecting to see James lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

He did indeed see this, but while James was definitely wounded, he was still very much alive. With one hand, he was attempting to staunch the blood streaming from this side, while his other hand was reaching for the gun that was lying less than a meter away from him.

Marco Sciarra, however, was very clearly dead, his body slowly toppling forward from his previous vantage point atop the pew to land with a dull thud in front of them.

With the entire _back_ of his skull blown away.

Diego could only manage to stand there, staring in disbelief, until James swore under his breath and grabbed him by his ankle, dragging Diego down hard to the floor beside him.

" _Madre de Dios!_ "

As he shakily pulled himself closer to James' side on his elbows and knees, Diego felt he could probably be forgiven for swearing in a church, given the circumstances.

Whatever the hell those circumstances might be, because he had never felt so totally out of his depth in his life.

Diego reached for his medical bag with trembling hands, intending to treat James' injury since he could accomplish little else, but James simply motioned him to remain still, raising his gun toward the footsteps that Diego could now clearly hear approaching from the center aisle of the nave.

Of course. James had to assume the worst when it came to the potential motives of their 'benefactor.' Evidently, the 'enemy of my enemy' was not _necessarily_ your friend, at least not when it involved James and the world of shadows in which he regularly operated.

However, as he watched James closely for direction on how to proceed, he was astonished to see the agent's eyes widen in surprise, his gun arm lowering slowly to the floor.

"Franz?" James said, his voice clearly reflecting his shock and disbelief.

The man who stopped in front of them was rather unimposing, on the whole. About the same age and height as Diego, he had short blond hair trending toward gray, with a serenely benevolent yet somewhat ironic smile on his face.

" _Hallo, mein Kleiner Schatten,_ "1 he said. "It's been a long time, but _finally_ , here we are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _1 \- "Hello, my little shadow."_
> 
>  
> 
>    
> OK, this will be my one and only rant about _Spectre_. The Powers That Be decided they wanted to make it _personal_ between Bond and the villain of the day. That's fine. They hired the incredibly talented Christoph Waltz, handed him the role of one of the most famous Bond villains in the franchise, and then the only thing they gave this poor man to work with were . . . _cuckoos_? 
> 
> WTF? Or, in Waltz's own words, "Overall, it held water and was okay. But it wasn’t what I’ve been looking for. I was searching for more inspiration." Frankly, I'm not surprised. I don't find cuckoos very inspiring either, at least with regard to providing the motivation necessary to stalk someone for _years_ and murdering every single person they ever cared about.
> 
> So, I'm not claiming I'll provide the proper inspiration either, because frankly, that would mean I could quit my day job(s) and actually write for a _living_. But rest assured, dear readers, not only were _no_ cuckoos harmed in the writing of this fanfic, there shall, in fact, be no further mention of cuckoos whatsoever henceforth. None. _Nada_. Zip. _Ixnay on the uckoocay._
> 
> Gah. Just, _no_.


	12. Chapter 12

When Tiago and Q finally reached the outer door of the compound, this one was _also_ standing wide open. 

Q looked around wildly as he exited, evidently still searching for his accursed cats. 

Although annoyed by the security breach of the open door, Tiago bit back a heated reprimand and followed him without a word. Granted, he had designed the compound so that in an emergency the doors could be opened quickly and easily from the inside, but if Q's _cats_ could manipulate them that effortlessly, he'd have to rethink his basic security precautions. 

Either that, or his pet policy.

Tiago heard the helicopter approaching from the east, and he motioned sharply for Q to follow him to the helipad, which was located a safe distance from the compound itself. 

When Q seemed to hesitate, Tiago said, "It'll be easier to spot them from the air, if you're that concerned as to their whereabouts."

Q reluctantly followed him, but as it turned out, an aerial search proved unnecessary. They came across the cats in an open space in the garden between the compound and the helipad, both pacing restlessly but apparently unharmed, although evidently still perturbed about _something_ given their obvious agitation. 

Not that Tiago was an expert in feline behaviour, deranged or otherwise, but James also tended to pace when he was agitated enough, at least when he thought no one could see him. With his independent nature and sheer overall cussedness, James would have made an excellent cat.

Now all Tiago had to do was get him properly housebroken, or at least encourage him to remain _inside_ the damn house where Tiago could keep an eye on him. 

_Hmm. There's a thought._

James already had a collar, but the addition of a _bell_ might actually be beneficial as well. If nothing else, it would serve as a punishment to James for worrying Tiago half out of his mind.

Well, _one_ of his punishments, at least. James had quite a bit to atone for. Tiago had not even bothered to remove the ring that had been given to him under such a blatantly false pretense.

After a few minutes, the helicopter finally came into view, circling the area above the helipad to gauge wind speed and direction. Tiago mentally urged them to bypass the safety precautions and get the wretched thing on the ground already, but he didn't hire idiots for a reason. 

Given his stringent time concerns at the moment, however, he was beginning to thoroughly regret that policy.

As the helicopter began its final approach, the big cat abruptly stopped his incessant pacing, sank down firmly on his haunches, and then started howling as if the very hounds of Hell had descended upon him.

When Tiago looked over at Q, the young man had turned extremely pale.

"Rodriguez. I think you had better evacuate the compound."

"What are you talking about? Why should I . . . ?"

Q reached over and grabbed his arm, as the cat continued to howl. "Just _do_ it, damn it!"

**********************************

"Franz? _How . . . ?"_ James paused, apparently rendered speechless by some combination of emotions that Diego could not even begin to categorise. "They told me you had _died_ along with your father in an avalanche," James finally managed to get out, his voice rising somewhat in his agitation.

The man James referred to as Franz merely rolled his eyes. "Obviously not, but I'll forgive you this time, considering how you believed everything those in authority told you during your impressionable youth." He looked down at Sciarra's blood-soaked body sprawled at his feet with mild distaste, pushing it further away with one expensively shoed foot, so he could sit cross-legged in front of James.

He then turned his head slowly toward Diego, his languid gaze settling on him almost as an afterthought, and Diego felt like some lowly microbe examined with indifferent, bored curiosity under a microscope. Or possibly, like something he had just found on the bottom of his shoe.

The man smiled faintly at him, as if he were reading Diego's thoughts, then he shifted his gaze back to James. "Aren't you going to introduce us, James?" He shook his head sadly. "I thought my father and I had taught you better manners than that, little shadow."

Still appearing thoroughly shell-shocked, James said slowly, "Franz, this is Dr. Diego Almeida. Diego, this is Franz Oberhauser." James paused and looked over at Oberhauser, who merely raised an eyebrow, smiling crookedly. "Franz was . . . _is_ my foster brother," James concluded softly.

"Your _brother_?" Diego repeated, somewhat surprised that Tiago had never mentioned this man before.

James shifted, stretching his left hand toward the man who was seated just out of reach, as if he needed actual physical contact to confirm his presence, but then dropped his hand abruptly when the movement apparently exacerbated his injury. 

Diego swore inwardly, angry at himself for becoming so distracted that he had not even begun to treat James' still freely bleeding wound. However, he had a feeling that this _brother_ of James' was accustomed to diverting attention to himself. He had a presence about him that demanded he be noticed, regardless of his rather unprepossessing physical appearance. 

At least, he seemed to have enthralled the almost mesmerized James, and Diego knew from experience that James was not easily overawed, even by the most powerful of men. 

Reaching again for his medical bag, Diego forestalled another attempted movement on James' part with his free hand. "Just give me a moment to get my supplies together, James." He double-checked the location of the wound, then added, "We will need to remove your shirt."

"Oh, allow me," Oberhauser said breezily, getting to his feet long enough to kneel in front of James. 

James surprisingly did not protest having this man so close within his personal space, nor did he object to his presumption in assisting him, meekly allowing him to unbutton his shirt for him. James still seemed almost confounded by the man's mere presence, and Diego wondered how close they had once been, for James to be affected this significantly.

As he tended to James, Oberhauser said almost as an aside to Diego, "James was _constantly_ getting himself in trouble and injured as a boy, you know." He exhaled sharply. "He was three years younger than me, yet refused to stay behind when I was planning something exceptionally foolish and reckless, even though I begged him to. You see, he was so starved for affection that he'd latched onto me extremely tightly indeed after the deaths of his parents." 

He shook his head sadly. "Can you believe his parents had actually planned to give James up for adoption just before they died?" His voice had risen slightly, as if scandalised by the very thought. "Unfortunately, my father didn't believe James when he spoke of this, but _I_ did. I alone could see the truth in those despondent, pain-filled eyes." He patted James' thigh comfortingly. "He became utterly devoted to me after that, and we were nigh on inseparable -- my very own little shadow. James was so very, _very_ determined to remain at my side."

After he had finished unbuttoning James' shirt, Oberhauser reached over and casually removed the gun that James still held loosely in his right hand, which James had apparently completely forgotten about, placing it out of the way behind him.

Shocked anew, Diego could only stare at them in disbelief, knowing full well how much James disliked not having immediate access to a weapon even under ideal circumstances, and these particular circumstances were certainly far from ideal. Diego may have only known James for a short time, but Tiago had exactly the same defensive instincts, and those two men were unquestionably stamped from the same mold. 

But not only did James not oppose Oberhauser's confiscation of his weapon, he seemed to disregard this fact completely and merely stared, with apparently a great deal of consternation, at Oberhauser's left hand. 

Or more precisely, at an oddly shaped ring that adorned one finger of the man's hand.

Oberhauser noted the direction of his gaze, then obligingly held his hand closer to James' face. "Oh yes, James, I have kept this ring all these years. I have _worn_ this ring all these years, but alas," he said, his mouth turning downward into a slight frown, "I see that you have chosen not to wear yours." He pursed his lips tightly. "A 'promise ring', you said _mein Kleiner Schatten_ , for when we were both old enough, you said."

The ring in question was not actually a precast ring at all, but appeared instead to be composed of simple strands of copper and silver wire, crudely twisted together.

James' face became even more pale, if at all possible. "I was _thirteen_ , Franz," he said, seemingly anxious about the man's vague disapproval. "I hardly knew _what_ I wanted back then."

"Hmm," Oberhauser replied noncommittedly, reaching for James' shirt and gently pulling his arms through the sleeves so that Diego would have unfettered access to his wound.

He did not hurry, running his hands down James' arms when he had finished as if refamiliarising himself, and again James was oddly docile about being handled so intimately. Oberhauser then did the same with James' neck and his chest, running his fingers across James' bare skin in a manner that was not _overtly_ sexual, but neither was it the least bit clinical. 

James said nothing in response and offered no resistance, his eyes lowered but seeming to follow that oddly shaped ring on Oberhauser's hand, still clearly disturbed about _something_ regarding its presence. 

However, when Oberhauser clasped the back of James' neck and gently rested his forehead against his, James immediately relaxed his rigid posture, exhaling softly into the clearly possessive hold, seemingly relieved to be granted the opportunity at all. From their practiced ease at assuming this position, they had obviously performed it many times in the past.

Oberhauser gently rubbed the back of James' neck, and James bowed his head even lower, allowing the older man to kiss him gently on the top of his head.

Diego stared in shock. He had never seen James this wordlessly compliant with another man before. Only with Tiago had he ever seen James react quite this passively, and it had taken Tiago _months_ to persuade James to relinquish this much control to him.

Shaking himself slightly, Diego removed the remainder of the necessary supplies from his bag. He had to get James' bleeding under control, and do so promptly. With his already compromised condition, the blood loss would affect him much quicker and more intensely than it would under normal situations. 

This might even be responsible for James' oddly submissive behaviour, at least in part. He certainly _hoped_ this was the case, because James was otherwise reacting in much the same manner as a traumatised child. Over the years, Diego had seen enough of them in his own practice to know. And according to Tiago, James had suffered quite enough trauma in his life, _especially_ as a child. He doubted the dramatic appearance of this spectre from James' past was doing him any favours, at least with regard to his already precarious emotional stability.

Neither James nor Oberhauser said anything more as Diego quickly and efficiently treated the wound. Amazingly, the bullet did not appear to have hit anything vital and had exited through his back, but the entrance and exit points were still bleeding profusely, and he would of course need to get James to a clinic to remove any remnants of the bullet or foreign material, or else risk subsequent infection. Diego packed the wound to help staunch the bleeding, applied clean dressings and then finally began putting away his supplies.

While he was doing so, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Oberhauser had picked up James' left hand, observing it closely. 

As if their previous conversation had never been interrupted, Oberhauser said, "Sadly, it appears that not only have you decided against wearing _our_ ring, James, but you have chosen to wear someone _else's_ ring instead." His eyes were wide and pained as they gazed into James' face. "Even though you had promised yourself to me. Do you know how much that distresses me, _mein Kleiner Schatten_?"

 _"Ich war ein_ Kind _, Franz,_ "1 James replied almost desperately, evidently resorting to their shared childhood language in his anxiety. He then made a half-hearted attempt to remove his hand from Oberhauser's grasp, but the man did not allow the movement. 

James' eyes widened slightly, but he did not try again.

Oberhauser shook his head. "You were old enough to follow me when I told you not to, old enough to become so incensed at my meeting with Mannfred that you let slip to my father the exact nature of my assignation with him." 

James was clearly distressed now, and he looked imploringly into Oberhauser's eyes. "I didn't do it on _purpose_ , Franz. I would never have knowingly gotten you into trouble like that, but I was . . ."

Openly stroking James' hand now, he said, "You were jealous, yes, I know, even though you didn't want to admit it at the time, did you, my innocent little shadow?" Oberhauser sighed, looking briefly heavenward. "You know, I had always planned to do the right thing by you, James. I had intended to wait until you were old enough to make an informed decision about furthering our relationship, hence my little dalliance with Mannfred. I was a young man, you understand, and a young man has certain . . . needs." He eyed James fondly. "But I thought we had all the time in the world, you and I, especially after you had given me this ring."

James merely gazed at him, stricken, not even attempting to argue further or move his captured hand. 

Diego stared at the two of them, extremely uncomfortable for reasons he could not quite isolate, but he did not like the intense, focused expression in this stranger's eyes. He looked for all the world like Tiago did, when he was at his most angry yet still so eerily, glacially calm. In fact, he looked like Tiago had upon returning from Hong Kong, after the series of betrayals and unfathomable pain that had transformed him so radically into Raoul Silva.

He looked . . . like an exceedingly dangerous man.

Oberhauser slowly brought James' hand up to his lips, kissing it softly, before clasping it firmly in his lap. "Yes, all the time in the world, except my father had grown up in Austria during the era of Nazi propaganda and therefore thought his filthy, perverted son would corrupt the poor little blue-eyed orphan." He leaned over to whisper almost conspiratorially to James, "For _your_ own good, my father told me, he had to take you away from me."

Still clinging onto James' left hand, he reached out with his other to gently clasp James' cheek. "He sent you _away_ from me, _Schatzie_. We were destined to be together always, and he sent you away. Can you possibly imagine what that did to me?" 

Oberhauser shuddered dramatically, releasing James' cheek, but still in that congenial, conversational tone, he added, "Then, after you were gone, my father punished me for my 'subversive habits', again and again and again."

Diego, now thoroughly alarmed about this man's mental stability, looked beyond him toward the entrance of the church, but it remained peculiarly empty. While the Peruvian National Police could be notoriously unreliable, there should have been at least _some_ official response to the gunshots fired by now, especially in this _particular_ church.

"You killed him. You killed your father." There was no inflection in James' voice, no surprise, and no horror either. Merely staid acknowledgement, as if the world had simply ceased to matter for him, and it chilled Diego to the bone.

"Yes, I did," Oberhauser replied evenly, his eyebrows rising in apparent confusion, as if his answer should have been glaringly obvious. "He kept you from me, little shadow, so what else was I to do?"

"I thought you had _died_ ," James repeated, pupils blown wide and seemingly totally at a loss.

"Yes, I understand, _Schatzie_ , but it took me some time to re-establish myself, to create an organisation strong enough to insure I could provide for you properly, so that _no one_ could ever take you away from me again." He smiled softly, his eyes vaguely distant at what was apparently an extremely pleasant memory. "I wasn't concerned by the delay, you see, because I had your ring . . . and your promise to me." 

Oberhauser stared down at the ring, then up at James, and his smile slowly disappeared. "But your behaviour in those intervening years, James?" He rolled his eyes. "Always chasing women, always _loving_ women, and never once even looking at a man, so what was I to think, hmm? If I had presented myself to you, alive and hale and ready to take up where we had left off, ready to redeem the promise of this ring, how could I be sure that you wouldn't reject me again?" 

He looked at James with a disappointed expression, like a parent scolding a misbehaving child. "As you did indirectly when you informed Father of my illicit homosexual affair." He sighed dramatically. "James, James. What could I do? You _know_ I don't take rejection exceptionally well."

The man was insane, he had to be, but James was merely staring at him, staring at him with the shattered, devastated eyes of the heartbroken child he must have once been, and Diego did not dare to interrupt.

"But I always held out some hope. Every time I had one of your precious women killed, I thought you might eventually come to your senses, but really, _Schatzie,_ when you finally decide that you can indeed love a man, you choose _Raoul Silva_ of all people?" He shook his head sadly. "I _know_ you have better taste than that, so it obviously wasn't your choice at all. I realize now that you were physically coerced by that absolutely horrid man and _forced_ to remain at his side." He patted James' hand again. "But everything will be better soon. I will see to that."

Diego looked at him in growing horror, then glanced almost involuntarily at the body of Marco Sciarra.

Oberhauser evidently caught the direction of his gaze. "Oh, he works for me, or rather, he _worked_ for me." He shrugged one shoulder indifferently. "I dispatched him to Lima as a lure for James, with the ostensible task of killing him, but I didn't think the hapless idiot would actually come so close to _succeeding_." He shook his head regretfully, finally releasing James' hand before pocketing his gun. "I probably shouldn't have told Marco that James was likely to show up here eventually, but how was I to know my little shadow would be so far off his game?"

Addressing his next comment directly to Diego, he said, "I've followed James his entire life, you see, and he's typically quite capable of keeping himself alive in dangerous situations. Even as a child, he was ridiculously resourceful." Sighing deeply, he smiled at what was apparently another fond memory. "We were such wild and care-free creatures, my little shadow and I, and there was nothing too risky we wouldn't attempt together. Always . . . _together_."

But his smile dimmed as his gaze shifted to James' ankle, glaring intensely at the collar as if he could burn it away with his gaze alone. 

Diego felt his eyebrows rising. So, Oberhauser clearly knew about the purely _physical_ hold that Tiago had on James, but he had just as obviously missed the far more important _emotional_ one. Or more likely, he simply did not care. 

Or did not believe it had ever existed at all.

Oberhauser confirmed this when he said, "However, given James' poor showing against Marco today, I can only assume his captivity by that insufferable Silva . . ." He rolled his eyes. "Well, I suppose I should say 'Rodriguez' . . . has obviously _not_ been good for him." He stroked the collar briefly, apparently not noticing James' resultant shudder at the contact, but he released it just as suddenly. "However, your appalling period of captivity is finally at an end now, isn't it, James?" His face brightened noticeably.

Clapping his hands together briefly in apparent satisfaction, Oberhauser rose gracefully to his feet. He looked down at James fondly. "As you can see, little shadow, a terrible event _can_ lead to something wonderful. Just as when Franz Oberhauser died, and Ernst Stavros Blofeld was born from the ashes." He smiled, cocking his head to one side. "Well, born from the _avalanche_ , I suppose." 

He calmly pulled out another gun from his vest pocket, presumably the one he had used to kill his own operative, and beckoned James to his feet, appearing almost apologetic at the show of force. 

However, when he glanced down at Diego, he graced him with a faint, enigmatic smile that very clearly indicated the man's intentions toward him. 

Diego wondered idly if he meant to kill him in front of James, or whether he knew that would be pushing the former agent too far. 

Unfortunately, he was not certain the man was even sane enough to care.

"Come, _mein Schatzie,_ my men won't be able to keep what passes for the authorities at bay forever. It's time for us to go home."

James was still suffering from the aftereffects of his poisoning, combined with blood loss and extreme shock, but he nonetheless seemed to be slowly pulling himself together. At least, when Oberhauser glanced briefly toward the front of the church, Diego saw him surreptitiously removing a knife strapped to his leg.

Diego braced himself to assist in any way he could, knowing they had little hope against this _maniaco_ from James' past, but then it abruptly became a moot point.

Because the floor beneath them began to heave and roll violently like the deck of a ship caught in the fury of a hurricane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 \- "I was a _child_ , Franz."
> 
>  
> 
> So, whaddya think? Slightly more motivation for Blofeld's actions than that bird which shall not be named?
> 
> Hmm. I don't know if this says something about Bond or not, but isn't amazing how he always seems to attract the notice of indisputable geniuses who are, nonetheless, complete whack-a-doodles and a few fries short of a Happy Meal?
> 
> And, uhm, I apologize for the cliffhanger from Hell. But I had a feeling most of you already knew this was coming anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

Tiago Rodriguez wasn't in the habit of obeying orders from his hired staff. He'd expected to have complete mastery of his life upon leaving MI6 behind. He thought he'd never again take directions, or even strong suggestions, from _anyone_ ever again. He was, after all, a firm believer in the maxim of "Control your own destiny, or someone else sure as Hell will." 

Tiago knew there were few people crazy enough to attempt controlling _his_ destiny. And even fewer who'd live to tell the tale, if they tried. 

But for some odd reason, when Q demanded he evacuate the compound on the sole advice of a pair of frantic but obviously demented felines, Tiago didn't hesitate. He activated the evacuation signal from his watch, and the muffled sound of the emergency klaxon was gratifying immediate.

At least his _tech_ obeyed orders without question.

As he waited for the evacuation of the compound, he stared up at the odd, almost rainbow-coloured clouds hovering on the horizon. It reminded him of Lima's infamous _cielo de brujas_ \-- the "sky of witches" -- but it was not yet sunset, and he'd never noticed the phenomenon this far from Lima before.

Tiago sighed, crossing his arms across his chest in an effort to curb the visible signs of his impatience. The evacuation process shouldn't take long, however. Only a few of his employees were currently below ground, as he had sent most of his security personnel to patrol the coastline due to the threat of possible invasion. 

Given the extreme seismic activity below this island, _everyone_ including his support personnel were well drilled on the evacuation procedures. He'd made certain there were enough emergency exits that it took a maximum of a minute and a half to evacuate from anywhere in the compound, as long as they didn't dawdle. 

But then, he'd made his opinions quite clear on the penalties of not responding immediately to an evacuation order. It was both expensive and time-consuming to properly train personnel. He had no intention of acquiring and educating replacements if he didn't have to.

He felt he deserved a metaphorical pat on the back for this. M wasn't the only person with the required skills for a successful manager, after all. She was simply a tad more heartless regarding the consequences of disobedience. Tiago was practically benevolent in contrast to that old dragon. Hell, he hadn't had anyone killed for disobedience in _eons._

Well, other than Severine, but he'd never considered her an _employee._

 _Si_ , M would always be more ruthless than he, but Tiago realized he could now recollect the events of Hong Kong without the immediate, visceral need to grasp M's throat in his hands. Perhaps he was mellowing in his old age, or perhaps he _was_ beginning to comprehend the necessity for her cold-blooded decision making, regardless of consequences or personal preferences. 

Ugh. He was starting to _think_ like M, and that was even more disconcerting than having his headquarters infested by Q's rabid cats. 

Tiago sighed again. Regardless of this additional delay in getting to James, he didn't regret his current decision with regard to the evacuation. They were well overdue for another drill, so this 'wild kitty chase' of Q's wouldn't cost him more than a few minutes. The helicopter was still on final approach, and it would be informative to see if his pilot obeyed the 'hover, don't land' regulations he'd initiated recently to protect the only immediate means off the island in an emergency. 

Behind him, he heard the murmurs of the compound's inhabitants as they hurriedly emerged from the main exit. He also noted with approval that his pilot had indeed aborted the landing and was hovering in a holding pattern the requisite 200 feet above the pad. 

He'd just turned to raise an ironic eyebrow at Q and comment on the idiocy of his doomsday felines when every bird on the island abruptly took to the air at the same time. After the initial commotion of their almost panicked departure, however, it became eerily silent. In fact, it was if the entire island was holding its breath, and the sound of the hovering helicopter and evacuation klaxon were therefore almost obscenely loud. 

Then the earth began to move violently beneath his feet.

Swearing, Tiago dropped down to one knee, yanking Q down with him. Not that he cared whether the infuriating infant lived or died, but he didn't want to risk damage to the laptop that was currently his only remaining link to James.

And given the way the ground was rolling like waves in a storm-tossed sea, he knew this was more than the usual baseline tremblors common on a fault line. For one, it was lasting far longer than usual, and he could hear the tortured creaks and groans from the underground facility's main load-bearing supports even this far removed from the main compound. 

The ground continued to ripple and heave, and Tiago heard panicked screams when the leeward side of the island dropped a full meter in a split second, the resultant ground displacement sending anyone who'd still managed to remain on their feet tumbling to the ground. Through the resultant swirling dust and debris, Tiago watched as a sizeable portion of the ground above his facility suddenly dropped downward like an immense sinkhole, the roof of the compound having evidently collapsed completely under the strain.

 _Merde_ , Tiago thought. He'd built this facility to survive up to an 8 on the Richter scale. Either the quake was centered directly below them and at an extremely shallow depth, or this was a massive quake indeed.

The ground continued to ripple like a river beneath him, but Tiago's eyes turned to the east, as if he could see the city of Lima from here. Peru was no stranger to earthquakes, situated as it was on the Pacific's "Ring of Fire", but a city like Lima with its sizeable population and less-than-stringent building codes was a disaster waiting to happen in a quake as powerful as this. 

And somewhere in that imperiled city, its population temporarily increased by thousands of visitors for the Lord of Miracles festival, was the person who meant _everything_ to him.

If he managed to find James alive this time, he was going to chain the infuriating man to his wrist.

And never let him go.

***************************************

Having spent his entire lifetime in earthquake-prone Peru, Diego did not hesitate. He scrambled closer to James as the floor undulated beneath them, intending to haul the man to his feet and get them both to safety.

Well, _relative_ safety, that is. There was no time to reach an exit. Diego knew the strongest part of this church was the area behind the alter, which was adjacent to the rear wall and reinforced by its separate archway and pillars. In any case, they needed to move away from the interior portion of the building, with its massive central dome and lack of center supports, as soon as possible. 

The church was rapidly breaking apart. The sounds of tortured masonry and the metallic screeches of the hidden steel supporting frames were daunting, and already the air was filled with swirling dust while pieces of falling masonry and the gold-guilt statues in their wall niches were tumbling to the floor all around them. 

And still the ground rolled.

For some reason, the threat from Franz Oberhauser now seemed relatively insignificant.

James seemed to share that conclusion, as his sheath knife was no longer visible, and he was attempting to use the arm on his uninjured side to lever himself into a standing position. 

Diego finally managed to get to his feet, bracing his legs wide apart in an attempt to _stay_ that way, and then reached down to help James. With the floor heaving and parts of the ceiling raining down on their heads, James was having difficulty rising, even with Diego's assistance. A huge section of the ceiling, most likely part of the dome, crashed to the floor behind them. The resultant wave of dust and debris swept across them like a wave, reducing the visibility to nearly zero in an instant. 

It was apparently not _all_ dust, however, as he heard James gasp aloud. When he leaned in closer, he saw the smear of red on James' scalp, glaringly obvious even though his face was covered in so much dust that he looked like a plaster cast of a human being. The flying debris had thankfully not knocked James unconscious, but he was shaking his head, apparently disoriented, and he was no longer attempting to stand even with Diego's frantic urging.

From out of the shroud of billowing debris, Oberhauser appeared, choking and coughing, but when he reached down and grabbed James' other arm, together they were able to haul the injured man to his feet.

Oberhauser no longer had the gun in his hand. Whether he had lost it in the melee or merely stashed it away, it mattered little to Diego, for the man was not staring at James in a threatening manner. In fact, he was looking at James like Tiago always did -- as if he were the most precious thing in the world to him. 

Regardless of the man's moral ambiguity, he seemed as determined to protect James as Diego, and between the two of them, they at least had a chance of getting the injured James to a safer location. He and James could deal with Oberhauser later, assuming they all survived.

Diego motioned with his chin toward the alter, and whether Oberhauser had actually seen the gesture through the obscuring dust or whether he had the same goal in mind, Diego did not know, but he did not object as Diego turned and began pulling James in that direction. 

Conversation was simply not possible as more of the church walls and the domed ceiling began to collapse, and the resulting din in the enclosed space was deafening. Luckily, the continued heaving of the floor had destroyed at least part of the bannister encircling the chancel, so the three of them were able to stumble over its remains without having to climb _over_ it. 

The earthquake had not finished unleashing its fury, however, and as they approached the archway containing the Lord of Miracles painting, the ground seemed to surge beneath them in one mighty lurch, sending them sprawling to the floor in different directions just as the building collapsed completely around them.

***************************************

As soon as the ground had returned to Tiago's preferred mode of _not fucking moving_ , he got to his feet, turning in a slow half-circle to assess the damage. He motioned with one hand to the pilot overhead, indicating that he should remain aloft in case there were immediate aftershocks. 

In the meantime, he needed to delegate the responsibility of accounting for everyone and to instigate any necessary rescue operations. Regardless of his overwhelming urge to seek out James _now,_ he had to insure matters were in hand here first. 

If this had occurred as recently as a year ago, he would have simply left his minions to deal with the fallout. He still _wanted_ to do that, of course, but he had evidently developed an inconvenient sense of responsibility. 

Sometimes he missed the callousness of Raoul Silva. Decisions were easier to make when you didn't give a damn about anyone but yourself. 

James and Diego were obviously bad influences on him -- something else to blame them for, as if the list weren't long enough already.

Fortunately, he spotted Matias and his men returning from their patrol, moving swiftly up the path from the cliff. Matias Alvarez was young, but Luis had been impressed with the ex-soldier's competence and leadership abilities, placing him in charge of the security personnel of the island some time ago. So far, he had performed his job satisfactorily, but now Tiago would see how the young man handled himself under pressure.

When Matias spotted Tiago, he motioned his men toward the milling survivors and jogged over to him. His face was intent as he surveyed the visible damage on his way up, but he didn't appear panicked or overwhelmed. 

_Bueno._ It was a good start, at least.

Tiago was even more impressed when the young man nodded at the end of his lengthy stream of instructions, asking pertinent questions and volunteering his own suggestions, most of which Tiago found to be eminently practical. 

Satisfied that the situation here was under control, at least as much as it could be after a major earthquake, he dismissed Matias to his tasks and signaled impatiently for the circling helicopter to land.

Looking around for Q, Tiago spotted him at the outskirts of the garden area with his cats, talking to a young woman he recognized from the kitchen staff. The woman nodded vigorously to something Q was saying, then turned toward the cats, evidently instructed to take care of them in Q's absence.

Q looked upward, shading his eyes with one hand, and then he started toward the helipad before Tiago had been forced to intervene. 

Somewhat disappointed, Tiago stalked over to meet him. Now that he could refocus his attention on finding the wayward James, he was almost hoping for a reason to snarl at someone.

Stress relief, Silva style.

 _Just as well,_ he thought to himself as he waited with Q for the helicopter to land. Now he could save all his vitriol for James and Diego, assuming his mild-mannered physician had managed to stay with James in the first place. While Diego was surprisingly tenacious, James seemed to have the man wrapped around his little finger. What's more, James had spent most of his adult life as a lone wolf, and he excelled at taking monumental risks while on his own. He would not have appreciated Diego tagging along, especially with the manual activator he'd been given to keep James in line.

If he had to put money on it, however, he'd bet that Diego was indeed still with James. The man was more stubborn than either he _or_ James, and Tiago shuddered to think what trouble they had managed to stir up together.

It was enough to give _anyone_ gray hair. Tiago therefore had a perfectly justifiable reason for dyeing his hair blonde, besides the obvious fashion statement. _Si_ , Tiago had plenty of choice words to share with James and Diego when he found them. 

And they'd better not have the effrontery to _die_ on him first, just to avoid his wrath. He'd be very, very displeased.

***************************************

James returned to consciousness abruptly, coughing uncontrollably. The coughing was so violent it sent spasms of pain radiating from the region of his gunshot wound. His body attempted to instinctively curl around the pain, but he couldn't seem to move his right leg at all, and this futile effort at movement triggered yet another wave of agony. 

As the worst of the coughing spasms finally eased, James attempted to open his eyes, only to find them caked completely shut, likely by the same pervasive dust that had caused his coughing spell. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, although this probably accomplished nothing more than spreading another layer of dust on top of them.

His head was pounding, but he remembered enough of the massive earthquake to wonder if it hadn't completely buried them, and if he'd open his eyes to darkness, regardless of his efforts.

After what seemed an age, however, he removed enough of the encrusted material to determine he wasn't in _total_ darkness. At first, he could see nothing but dust motes floating in front of his face like stars in a hazy night sky, but he was eventually able to make out ghostly outlines of jagged, haphazardly strewn portions of masonry amidst the near-darkness and cloying dust. 

He was lying on his back, but his hips and legs were angled awkwardly toward the right, and he attempted once again to move his feet. His left foot obeyed the command, but his right foot seemed to be trapped, and the dust and gloom were so pervasive that he couldn't see far enough to determine why. The pounding of his head made attempting to sit up a daunting prospect, and it was likely also masking any pain he might have felt from the trapped limb. 

A moan came from somewhere on his left side, followed shortly thereafter by a muffled curse in Spanish, and James closed his eyes again in relief. Diego was alive, at least. 

James knew he'd placed the physician into an unconscionable degree of danger, even without the aftereffects of the earthquake. His thoughts were still muddled, and he had to force his mind into mission mode, but he knew that getting Diego to safety _had_ to be his first priority. 

But he bloody well had to be able to _move_ first.

"Diego?" he said, although the name wasn't comprehensible even to his own ears, and the attempt instigated yet another spate of ragged coughing.

He'd barely managed to get his breath back when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "James? Are you all right?"

James looked blearily in the direction of the voice. His eyes were watering from the extended bout of coughing, but at least this had improved his vision somewhat. He could now see Diego's dust-covered visage looking down at him worriedly, although it was still like peering at an ancient bas-relief sculpture given the gray-on-gray that seemed to cover everything.

Not trusting his voice so soon, James merely nodded, but then motioned with one hand to his right leg. 

Diego followed the motion with his eyes, and when he leaned over, James could see that he was holding one arm awkwardly against his body, and he didn’t require a medical degree to detect the unnatural angle of his left forearm. 

He felt Diego's right hand as it progressed from his knee down to his lower leg, evidently checking for broken bones. He stopped abruptly just above James' ankle, however. He heard Diego exhale sharply, and the swirling dust had subsided enough that James could now see the reason for his concern. A massive block of stone or masonry was resting on his right foot, accompanied by a veritable avalanche of smaller debris surrounding it. 

James was grateful he couldn't actually see his ankle.

Diego attempted to move across him to reach his opposite side, but the low "ceiling" of debris meant he had to crouch awkwardly to manage it. Diego reached overheard to support himself, but then let go quickly when an ominous groaning sound was quickly followed by a shower of debris and choking dust. 

Stopping halfway across James' body, Diego crouched over him, evidently attempting to shield him from the worst of the onslaught, but James could see his eyes were wide with fear, and he could feel the trembling of Diego's right arm where it rested against the side of James' body.

He knew exactly what Diego was thinking. James also wondered if this time they'd be completely buried in the steadily falling debris, but it finally slowed to a trickle and then a complete stop. 

He heard a whispered, " _Merde_ " from Diego before he slowly finished his movement to James' right side. He then carefully moved aside the loose debris so he could reach James' trapped foot. Diego's body was blocking his view of the proceedings, but he could see Diego's dust-covered shoulders tighten as he tried to shove against the obstruction. 

It apparently didn't move, and James wasn't sure if he should be relieved or concerned that he still felt nothing from the trapped limb.

Diego's shoulders slumped, and other than cradling his injured arm, he didn't move for quite some time. It was eerily silent except for the occasional creaks and groans of the shifting debris and a persistent dripping sound as some sort of liquid found its way through gaps in the rubble. 

"Diego," James rasped, and he waited until Diego turned his head toward him. "See if you can find a way out. There's light coming from somewhere."

When Diego merely shook his head firmly, James said, "You'll need to find help."

Diego crawled over him again, then said, "I will search for something to use as a lever, James, but I will not leave you. I promised Tiago to keep you safe, and I do not intend to break that promise."

Knowing it was useless to argue with the hard-headed physician, James merely sighed as Diego crawled away further into the rubble. Instead, he looked around for any sign of Franz now that some of the swirling dust had subsided, but his field of vision was limited to no more than a meter or two in any direction. In some areas, the ceiling appeared to have collapsed completely to the floor, and he feared that Franz might be lying underneath one of those piles of crushing debris.

James had no idea if Franz was alive or dead, and for some reason, he couldn't stop himself from mourning his possible death, even after all he'd discovered about his long-lost foster brother. 

He had no doubt that Franz was criminally insane, but his conscious mind seemed reluctant to replace the years of fond memories he retained from his youth with this recent revelation. Franz had been _everything_ to James after his parents' deaths, filling a void he hadn't even known existed, especially given the detached distance maintained by his father and his stepmother's spiteful resentment. 

James had never been the sole focus of _anyone's_ attention before he'd met Franz, and this had proven irresistible to a young orphan. He had indeed become the older boy's 'little shadow', rarely far from his side.

In turn, Franz had been endlessly fascinated with James, and he'd seemed to thrive on the devotion that James had given him wholeheartedly and without reservation. 

Regardless of what Franz had assumed, James _had_ kept the ring he'd made for them, intending to fulfill its promise when he reached his maturity. He'd been devastated to learn of Franz' death, but he'd never been able to discard it like he'd done everything else from his wretched childhood.

Then, given the shock of seeing Franz very much alive, it wasn't surprising he'd instinctively sought his proximity and approval, just as he had in their youth. James was well aware of his abandonment issues. Even after discovering the magnitude of his foster brother's crimes in the years since they'd parted, old habits apparently died hard.

If they ever died at all.

Did he subconsciously hope Franz might still be redeemed, even given his obvious madness?

James _had_ been prepared to kill Franz to protect Diego, but then, he'd been prepared to kill Raoul Silva too, and _that_ particular encounter with a known terrorist hadn't gone exactly as he'd planned.

Especially since he couldn't imagine a life without Tiago now.

His thoughts were interrupted by a rumbling groan, as if the building itself were in pain, with an accompanying deluge of stone, masonry and dust falling from above. It was followed by the tortured screech of metal on stone as a steel girder, likely a support from the central dome, appeared above him amidst the gloom and showering debris. 

It didn't stop.

James pushed upward against it with both arms, but he was at an awkward angle, pinned partially by his leg and the piled debris against his lower torso, so he had very little leverage. He was able to slow but not stop it, and it appeared the beam would come to rest directly across his upper chest or neck.

Neither of which were conducive to continued breathing on James' part.

Given his profession, he'd imagined many ways to die and had experienced enough close calls that he didn't even _need_ a vivid imagination, but being crushed to death in an earthquake had never been among them. 

Personally, he didn't much care for the idea, but then, most people didn't like the concept of dying, just as a matter of principle.

The beam dropped another few centimeters. James was able to stop its advance, for now, but he knew his already quivering arms wouldn't hold for much longer. He glanced warily around, but this appeared to be the only section in danger of immediate collapse, so Diego should still be able to find a way out. If he hadn't already made it to safety. 

At least Tiago wouldn't have to lose _both_ of them.

Another torrent of debris rained down from above, likely shaken loose by the falling beam, and it obscured his vision yet again. He almost welcomed it, actually. He wasn't _that_ fond of staring death in the face.

However, Diego apparently hadn't gone very far, because James heard another muffled curse in Spanish, and the physician was suddenly straddling him, uncomfortably close given the tighter quarters. When James was finally able to see again, he noted that the steel girder had settled across Diego's shoulders as he strained upward in an attempt to stop its motion. Diego managed, barely, but he only had one arm to brace himself with, and it was clear he wouldn't be able to hold out for long.

"Diego," James said firmly, "You have to leave now, while you still can."

Again Diego shook his head, the sweat from the heat and his exertion making runnels like tear tracks in the gray dust plastering his face. "No, James." He smiled wanly. "Tiago would kill me. Besides, I could not leave you to die alone, _jovencito_."

"He is _not_ alone," came an eerily calm voice behind them. "I promised him long ago he'd never be alone again."

James watched wide-eyed as Franz crawled into view, his face gashed and blood streaming from around his right eye, but he seemed otherwise uninjured. He stopped close enough to brace the treacherous beam with his own shoulders.

Franz stared down at James for a few moments, his remaining eye focused intently upon him, but then he slowly turned his head toward Diego. "Now, kindly move aside, _Herr Doktor_ , and find a way to release James from this debris." Franz smiled lazily, arching an eyebrow. "And do so quickly please, or you'll wish the earthquake _had_ managed to kill you first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edit 5/29/18)  
> OK, an apology is definitely in order. I won't go into all the gory details, but I'm having some Real Life difficulties. So much so that I had to take a break for a bit and write something obnoxiously upbeat and fluffy in an attempt to cheer myself up, so I haven't made a lot of progress with this much darker work. 
> 
> Rest assured, I have no plans on abandoning this fic, and I have 1200 words of the next chapter finished already, but I ask that my readers be patient until I can get myself straightened out. This story is very important to me, and I don't want to put out something substandard. Thanks in advance, and once again my apologies to those still following this fic!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted this link in "Obsession", but for those who haven't seen it yet, this series now has a song mix! Many, many thanks to Vampalaurels for the mix (as well as the much appreciated assistance with my Spanish dialogue, lol!) Check it out [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLxsuHm7-an24fjG1qpwnJHmNeb8x8aPEB) and leave the mixer some love.

Tiago was accustomed to seeing very little of Lima's skyline, even from the air, as Lima had the much-deserved reputation of having the worst air pollution of all Latin American cities. But today, it was as if the helicopter were approaching a massive storm cloud that stretched as far as the eye could see, only this cloud was composed of a mixture of roiling gray and black that almost completely enveloped even the lowest of Lima's buildings.

Those few that remained standing, that is. As he had feared, the earthquake had indeed ravaged the capital city. He could see little due to the still billowing clouds of dust and the thick black smoke exuded by what must be literally hundreds of fires, but he wasn't all that certain he actually _wanted_ to see.

The air seemed unusually turbulent, even though they had only recently crossed over the coastline, and Q was evidently attempting to distract himself by concentrating totally on the laptop. His face was still a rather alarming shade of green, however. 

"I have a signal," Q said, sounding relieved. He looked up from his laptop and then let out a shocked gasp as he caught a glimpse of the devastation visible intermittently through breaks in the clouds. The young man glanced over at Tiago, dawning horror on his face, but Tiago couldn't afford to be distracted with the misfortunes of the city he had once considered his home. Not when James' life may be at stake.

He had to stay focused, and more importantly, he had to keep _Q_ focused. "Q," he said sharply. "Will your nanotechnology still transmit even if its host is no longer living?"

Q's eyes widened, and he swallowed visibly. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "Like I said, the technology is still in the experimental stages, and we hadn't gotten to the point of testing it on a . . . deceased host."

Narrowing his eyes, Tiago said tightly, " _Guess_."

Q took a deep breath. "The nanites rely on the body's electrical field to operate. Once the host dies and the electrical field starts to dissipate, they will eventually stop transmitting."

"But you don't know the time period?"

"No," Q said, eyes very wide. "There was some debate as to whether the small charge generated by bacteria in the process of decomposition would be sufficient to power the nanites themselves."

Tiago narrowed his eyes impatiently. "So, we _still_ have no idea whether James is alive or dead."

Q glanced outside again at the ravaged city below. "No," he said quietly.

Tiago was about to respond heatedly when the helicopter lurched downward. Even though he was not a pilot, Tiago could tell there was something horribly wrong with the pitch of the engines.

He glanced over at Q, who evidently hasn't exaggerated his dislike of flying. His eyes were wide and staring, and he grabbed onto the seat with his free hand hard enough to make the leather creak.

His pilot's voice came over Tiago's headset. "Sir, we need to land immediately." 

"What's wrong?"

There were several piercing alarms going off in the background, audible even through the noise-cancelling headphones, and the pilot said, "The ash and particulates in the air are overheating the turbines, sir. The air quality is so bad it's like trying to fly through the aftermath of a volcanic eruption."

Tiago cursed under his breath. "Then put us down before we crash and have the misfortune of adding to it."

"Yes, sir," came the relieved reply. "It may be a little bumpy. Ground visibility is nearly zero, we'll be landing strictly IFR, and since we don't know how the terrain has . . . changed, we'll need to head back to the airport." 

"Understood." Tiago looked over at a pale and trembling Q as the helicopter's engines whined again, and they once again dropped precipitously before the pilot was able to compensate and regain their forward airspeed.

Temporarily, he was sure.

At this point, Tiago couldn't blame Q on his fear of flying. He wasn't especially enjoying this trip either.

*******************************

Diego still seemed reluctant to leave him, but regardless of Franz's ulterior motives, James couldn't argue that his foster brother was in better condition physically to brace the falling beam than Diego with his fractured arm.

Not taking his eyes off Franz, James said, "He's right, Diego. See if you can find help, or at least something to move this debris."

The beam dropped further, causing Diego to gasp and come down hard on his good elbow. 

Franz shuffled closer, and then he pushed upward with his shoulders, freeing Diego of his burden and causing him to nearly collapse upon James with a ragged exhalation.

"Move," Franz said tightly. "It will be easier to hold this beam closer to its fulcrum point." 

Diego looked down at James doubtfully, but he nodded in reassurance. "It's all right, Diego," James said softly.

Diego carefully moved to the side, shaking loose a miniature avalanche of dust and debris from his shoulders and back as he did so. Once away from James, Diego knelt and then pushed upward against the beam on the far side, grunting with the effort given the awkward height of the beam from the ground at that position, so that Franz could straddle James and assume the strain solely onto himself once more. 

The medic nearly collapsed once Franz was in position, apparently near the end of his strength given his injury and the resultant shock. He merely shook his head as if to clear it, however, and with a final backward glance at James, crawled off determinedly into the gloom. 

James watched until Diego was out of sight, and then almost reluctantly returned his gaze to the man straddling him, whose face was now only centimeters from his own.

Franz raised his uninjured eyebrow at him. "So, James. The things that bring people together, eh?" He smiled crookedly. "It's almost as if this meeting were preordained."

James took a careful breath, knowing he dared not antagonize the man _too_ much, but it was apparent that his ego remained as robust as he remembered from their childhood. "Only you would correlate an act of God with bringing us together."

"I wouldn't go _quite_ that far, _Kleinen Schatten_. You see, I may have miscalculated the consequences of detonating that nuclear device so close to a fault line. I was attempting to keep Rodriguez occupied, but it likely triggered an 'earthquake storm,' as the so-called experts have recently hypothesized." Franz smiled again. "So, dearest James, since I'm neither a firm believer in coincidences _nor_ the divine, I'm afraid _God_ had very little to do with this particular event."

James could only stare up at him, horrified.

"What can I say, I thought it was worth the risk." Franz shrugged as best he could with the weight of the beam on his shoulders. "Oopsie!"

James shuddered, feeling his long-treasured memories of solace and belonging break into as many pieces as the shattered church around them. If he'd had any doubts about Franz's mental stability before, those existed no longer. "You're insane." 

"Possibly. But you also know I'm a hedonist. And since 'sanity and happiness are an impossible combination,' according to the esteemed Mark Twain, I'm afraid you can't have it both ways." Franz sighed dramatically. "Besides, you had no issues with my 'crazy schemes' when we were younger."

"Risking our own lives free climbing an unstable cliff is hardly on par with causing the deaths of millions!"

"Two deaths or two million -- it's only a matter of degree." Franz raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like an accountant's quibbling, and I never took you for the bookish type. _Verdammt_ , James, but how the mighty have fallen." He pointedly swept his gaze down James' trapped body. "Quite literally, in this case, but everything will be fine now that you've fallen into the best of hands. You'll see." 

"No," James said, shaking his head. "I don't see, and I doubt I ever will."

"Fortunately, that won't be an issue, as even with the loss of one eye, _my_ vision remains perfectly clear." Franz' expression softened into one that James recalled vividly as a boy. "Do not look so disturbed, James. Regardless of your myriad faults, I _do_ still love you, and we have all the time in the world to make things right between us again."

Another groan from the shifting debris above, and they were once again showered in dust and falling rubble.

The torrent gradually slowed, but this time it did not completely stop. 

Coughing, James heard a strangled laugh and Franz said, "Well, everything is relative, I suppose."

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm finally back. My apologies, I know this is short, but I wanted to get at least _something_ out since it's been so long since my last update. Also, I'm still debating exactly where I want to take this. Don't worry, I have no plans to kill off either James or Tiago, but I'm curious as to what my readers would like to see in future chapters, or _not_ see for that matter. I can't guarantee I'll end up using them, but it might help kickstart my vacillating Muse, lol!


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